


Wolf Boy

by SarkaS



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Barebacking, Beta Derek Hale, Blow Jobs, Bottom Derek Hale, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, College Student Stiles, Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Derek Uses His Words, Intervention, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Miscommunication, One Night Stands, POV Stiles, Rimming, Secrets, Smut, Stripper Stiles, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 16:18:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarkaS/pseuds/SarkaS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He told everyone that he works for a big IT company. When they asked about it and he pulled out all those IT terms and strange words, they never asked again. If he said “work is good”, they believed him, except for Lydia. She would have definitely known what he’s saying, but she didn't really care. So, win for him. Again.</p><p>But now he's staring at his phone with desperation written on his face and doesn't know what to do.</p><p>I’m going to NYC for my new internship. Spare me a room. L.</p><p>He is so fucked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wolf Boy

**Author's Note:**

> So... I should probably tell you that this is my first fic in English ever. I write for few years now, but I've just never had courage for writing in English. Until now. So, I'm terribly sorry for things I do to this great language. I don't have any beta-reader who can manage corrections in English. Maybe someday I'll find someone but for now... Yeah, I'm just really really sorry. Hope you give me a chance anyway. :)
> 
> EDIT: 9.7.2014 little changes
> 
> EDIT2: 3.8.2014 my terrible grammar corrected by amazing Sarahcatastic. Thank you!!!

The thing is, Stiles didn't want this. He didn't ask for it. It just happened.

“Stilinski! Move your precious ass! You need to be on stage in two!”

“Sure, boss!” Stiles yells back, just as the door from the office slams loudly shut. Yeah, he definitely didn't want this but he learned to love it, partly.

He came here with a dream. To be a great student and fuck as many people as he can, while he can. And he tried, he really tried but there was a slight problem with the money.

So he took a job in a coffee shop but it wasn't enough. Therefore he took another one in a library and before he could notice he worked thirteen hours a day and his grades were on the brink of disaster. This solution for his financial crisis sucked. Bright time!

Stiles let everything behind for this. His father, his pack, Scott... He told Scott that he couldn't go to UCLA with him like they've planed because Columbia was such a great opportunity. Scott was just as great as a best friend as ever, totally supportive and happy for Stiles.

So he couldn't just give this up. No way. There isn't any fucking universe in which Stiles would give this up.

And then, one night in a club, Marv showed up.

The first two minutes Stiles just laughed, like really laughed. He might or might not fell on his own ass because he laughed so hard. Then he told Marv that this was the lamest joke ever and tried to leave. But the Manager of Golden String (as he introduced himself) explained to him that his proposition wasn’t a joke, gave him his business card and told him to call if he ever felt the desire for a glittering career. (Stiles had no idea how much glittering. Just _waaay_ too much glitter, seriously.)

So, here he is, in really,  _really_ tinny golden strings under the police uniform in the same shade of gold. He put on sunglasses, which would look cool, if they weren’t part of the costume.

He needs to tear off the costume in a few minutes - very slowly and even more seductively if he wants to get some good tips.

Yes, his fancy and well paid job is stripping, in one of the best strip clubs in the Bronx. His job takes five hours top, two or three nights a week.

If Stiles can say, it's a win-win situation. He has time for school, a healthy sleep rhythm and enough money for everything he needs. Yeah, but there is this slight problem that his dad has no clue what he’s doing for a living. Or Scott. Or anyone else, actually. But except for that? It is _fantástico!_

At least it was for the first six months.

He told everyone that he works for a big IT company. When they asked about it and he pulled out all those IT terms and strange words, they never asked again. If he said “ _work is good_ ”, they believed him, except for Lydia. She would have definitely known what he’s saying, but she didn't really care. So, win for him. Again.

But now he's staring at his phone with desperation written on his face and doesn't know what to do.

**I’m going to NYC for my new internship. Spare me a room. L.**

He is so fucked.

“Stilinski!” Marv sticks his head in from his office, again, and Stiles runs on the stage without a moment’s hesitation.

He can figure this out. Yeah, he totally can.

He’s so dead. _So dead!_

***

“So, what’s this internship about?” Stiles asks on the next day and gives a questioning look to his laptop screen. They’re skyping and Lydia’s perfect face is smiling at him. (There is maybe a small unintentional shiver through his body. No lust - just pure fear. Her smile never means anything good, at least for him.)

“It’s not a real internship, more like an exchange program. Six weeks at Courant Institute of Mathematics and Science. I won it, so they send me to NY, all paid and everything. They told me that they could try to find some place in a dorm room for me but I know you have a small place just for yourself, so I told them not to bother. I’ll be there with you in two days! Happy?”

“Yay!” Stiles manages as sincerely as he can. He loves Lydia. He really does, but six weeks? Fuck!

“Are you sure, Lyds? I have just one bedroom, you know that.”

“But you have also a huge couch in the living room, so you can manage to sleep on that for a few weeks.”

“Me?!” he squeaks. “Why me?”

“Because I’m a guest, duh. And I definitely won't be sleeping on the couch. For anyone.”

Stiles exhales and runs a hand through his hair. He can’t win this, he knows that. “Fine. Bed is yours. But you will do all the grocery shopping!” She rolls her eyes, but gives him a short nod.

Lydia starts telling about her internship/exchange program opportunity again and Stiles tunes her voice out. Why is he so weak? He could just tell her to take a room at the dorm, but he didn’t.

Because he misses her, he misses all of them. Even Derek. (Fuck, especially Derek.)

And yes, he’s aware of the fact that he is truly pathetic if he misses that sourwolf. It's not like he couldn't find any friends in NY. He has some. Marv is… well, he's his boss, but a friendly boss, most of the time!

“Stiles! Are you even listening to me?”

“Sorry, what?” he asks sheepishly. “I kind of zoned out.”

“I've noticed.”

“You asked something?”

“Yeah, I asked if there is a possibility that I’ll meet a naked person in your apartment. I mean unexpectedly.”

Stiles snorts. “Duh. Me.”

Lydia rolls her eyes again. “I figured that one out. But except you?”

“Don’t worry, Lyds. I don’t take my one night stands home. No need for panic.”

Lydia exhales loudly and Stiles has the feeling that it sounds a little disappointed. But that's probably just his imagination. Hopefully.  

He glances over at the desk and curses. He needs to be in the club in an hour.

“Need to go, Lyds. Send me a text, when you’ll be here, and I'll send you the address.”

“What? No picking up?”

Stiles grins into the camera. “You’re an adult. I've faith in you that your beautiful butt won’t get lost in in NY. At least not on your first day. You’ll get lost someday, eventually.”

“Shut up, Stilinski!” Lydia deadpans and blows him a kiss. As the screen goes black his stupid grin disappears.

Fuckfuckfuck!

He has two days to figure out how to keep his job a secret.

***

He throws the letter jacket aside and thrusts with his hips into the rhythm of The Black Keys. Tight jeans are uncomfortable for dancing but he looks hot. He knows he looks hot. Luckily the jeans have Velcro stripes on the sides, so removing them is for Stiles certainly easier than for Derek.

_Any of these thoughts racing through my brain._

Okay. He can admit that this outfit was his idea. And this song. So sue him! No one can say that these are bad ideas!

Stiles takes off his shirt and throws it away, turns his back to the audience, teasing them for a minute … or three with his slowly circling.

_Alright. There's something wrong with this plot._

Then turns back and playfully pouts when he slides his hands over his bare chest and hookes his fingers under the edge of his jeans.

He watches the people under him with a cocky smile on his face when he rips them off. There's some screaming. A lot of screaming, actually. Ladies nights are usually like that.

_Baby I’m howlin' for you._

Yeah, Stiles likes his job, very much. He isn't exactly ashamed of it. Not completely…  Stiles is just afraid what his father would think and say if he knew - and his friends. Maybe also people from the university.

Ok, he is kind of ashamed. But still, he needs money and Marv isn't a cheapskate. The Club is successful, Stiles' popular, so he can’t complain.

And there are also some nice bonuses.

After the show, Stiles changes and sits at the bar. It takes less than five minutes before a beautiful woman appears next to him, a pretty one, who wouldn’t be interested in him under normal circumstances.

“Great performance,” she smiles at him.

“Thanks,” Stiles smiles back.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure.”

This was surprisingly totally okay. Marv doesn’t have any problems with employees hooking up with customers if there isn’t any sex in the club. But there is a nice dark alley just next to it and from the way, how she is looking at him, Stiles is sure that he's going to fuck her there in the next fifteen minutes.

When the bartender gives her two drinks, she brushes his finger with hers and slides them to his wrist.

Yeah, there is definitely going to be some fucking tonight.

***

“It’s you,” Stiles is standing with one hand in the open door, staring.

“It’s me,” Lydia is smiling, like, really smiling.

“I fucking missed you!” Stiles almost cries out and in the next second he’s hugging her with his face buried in her strawberry blond hair.

She doesn't say anything but hugs him with the same enthusiasm.

“How could I think even for a minute that this is a bad idea?” he mumbles and pushes her into his small apartment. It isn’t much, but it is just his.

“You thought this is a bad idea?”

“Well, you know yourself. Probably going to turn my life into hell in one week or so, but I’m still glad you are here.”

“Good for you. Now shut up and take my bags.” Yeah, it's starting already. But when he takes her bags, he is still smiling.

“Hungry?”

“Duh. It was a long way.”

“From Boston…”

“Yeah.”

“By plane.”

“Shut up, Stilinski and bring me some food. I brought this.” Lydia pulls a bottle of vine from her purse. Fine vine, he bets.

“As you wish, my queen.” He bows a little and takes the bowl with the pasta salad out of the fridge. With two plates and two forks in common they sat on the couch.

“So, when will I meet your friends?” she asks, taking a sip from the vine.

“Nah,” Stiles waves his hand, “I don’t have much of a social life here, too mundane for me.”

“Seriously, a lack of werewolves is a problem for you?”

He shrugs. “You know, I’m kind of used to it. I miss my pack.”

Lydia rolls her eyes. “You're hopeless, Stilinski. Let me guess. You have Derek’s photo on your nightstand.”

Stiles suddenly blushes and Lydia stops her motion with pasta on the fork half way to her mouth.

“You totally have!” It sounds as if she's accusing him.

“No, I haven’t! It’s not Derek’s photo, it’s the whole pack and it’s not on my nightstand. It’s on the fridge,” Stiles defends himself. She looks back over her shoulder and focuses on the fridge.

“Where did you get that? I don’t remember taking it.”

“Last summer when we went to the lake for a whole day, remember? They all had their eyes closed, when they sunbathed. No laser eyes and all that shit.”

“Yeah, because that’s an excuse for having a photo of a bunch of almost naked werewolves on your refrigerator, right?”

“Shut up,” Stiles mutters halfheartedly. “It’s not like there is some other group photo. If I would want another photo of Derek, I'd have to take it from my dad’s police file. There is no way he would posed one willingly.”

“So it _is_ about Derek then?” Oh come on! No way they’re talking about Derek. Not now, not ever.

“No! That was an example! Oh my God, you’re here for half an hour and you’re already such a pain in my ass.”

Lydia gives him a crooked smile. “Shut it, you love me.”

Stiles exhales tiredly. “Yeah. I’m an idiot.”

“Yes, you are,” she says fondly. It's just a second then she jerks her chin up. “Now… what about watching the Notebook?”

***

They fit into a routine quite easily, partly because they both have a kind of full schedule. Lydia is most of her time at the Courant Institute of Mathematical Sciences fully submerged into problems Stiles’ couldn't even understand. Stiles on the other hand has his own problems, he spends almost every afternoon in the library and digs for information about things that he never considered important until his professors told him otherwise.

The best part is that Lydia doesn't have any time interrogating him about his job. When he comes home, she is often already asleep.

The first week had gone by just like that. No problems at all, just a few fights about takeout’s and if they should watch Notebook - again. Or Star Wars - again.

Stiles goes to the work like usual.

“Hey, Stiles! What’s up?”

“Tanya, hey,” he sends a small smile to the blond girl bending over the bar as she talks with a bartender. She has two bright red stripes in her hair, both on the left side. He likes that. “Looking good. Something new?”

“Nah, just the usual. Marv wants to talk to you,” she waves her hand in the direction of the office and dress rooms.

“Cool. Thanks.” He gives the bartender, Ted, a nod and walks past them into the back of the club.

He knocks two times, like always.

“Stiles, come in!”

Stiles goes inside, closing the door behind him. “Boss,” he nods with a smirk which earns him a glare but Marv has already given this battle up.

“Sit,” Marv pushes a chair in his general direction. Stiles obeys. “You know about next week, right?”

“The Gay night?” Stiles asks and spreads his legs a little, just making himself comfortable.

“Yes, that’s what I mean. What’s your opinion about water?”

This wasn’t new. It took him only two months to prove Marv his qualities, so now his performances were on him. He made them up; music, choreography, props, everything. But sometimes Marv came up with something himself.

“How much water do you have in mind?” Marv gives him a long look. “Oh, you mean you want me in the Cube!” Okay... now Stiles is maybe a little bit surprised. Marv nods. “All night?”

“Nah. I want you to be the highlight of the evening.”

Okay, this is a _shock_. “Really?” Stiles wants to ask why but Marv gives him another look.

“Yes, really. You know I’m always serious about work. So, what do you think? Any ideas?”

Stiles smiles wide. “One or two, yeah.”

“I want you also to be in the beginning and in the group-one. Do you think-”

“I can make it. No worries,” Stiles interrupts him. Marv smiles. _That’s my boy_ his eyes say.

“Good. In that case, go and prepare. I have a feeling tonight’s going to be full house.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Stiles leaps on his feet, mood about thousand percent better. There is going to be much more money on his account by the end of the month. Much, _much_ more.

For the rest of the night he dances and throws away his clothes how he’s supposed to. His last performance is with Tanya.

When he goes home, he still looks like a fucking fairy, glittering all over. That shit won't wash off, no matter how many times he tries. Hopefully Lydia is already sleeping.

***

“Can we go out tonight?” Lydia asks and drops her butt next to him on the couch.

“Sorry, Lyds. Working,” Stiles mumbles without looking at her. He's just in the middle of an essay about the lack of support for homosexuals in the law in general.

“At night?” she asks surprised.

“Mhm,” he grunts, not really listening.

“What the hell do they want you to do in that company at night?!” She sounds horrified. He finally snaps his head up and looks at her.

 _Shit_ is his first thought. The second is _I'm so screwed._ “What?”

“Yeah, exactly. What?”

“Well, there are computers and things. It’s easier to work with them when the servers are not used by thousands of people.”

Lydia frowns and he bites his lip. Then she exhales. “That, actually, makes sense.”

“I know. Sorry for tonight. I would love to go out with you.” That isn't a lie. He would really love to hang out with her but it's Saturday, there is no way for him to skip work. And he can't afford it, either.

“It's fine. I think I’ll Skype someone, we can hang out next time.”

“I love you,” he confesses to her gratefully. Lydia kisses him on his temple, gets up and heads to the kitchen to begin with the dinner preparation.

Stiles goes back to his work until she puts a plate, filled with hot food, in front of him. Then he just throws his books away and yawns loudly.

“You are a goddess which is no news, but I’m telling you anyway. You really are.”

Lydia smiles proudly at him. “And you can just smell it. Wait until you taste it.”

So he does. It is in fact really… awful. But he is so hungry that he doesn’t mind at all. He eats so quickly, his taste buds can’t even notice that he’s eating something.

“Yeah, that’s much better,” Stiles exhales and leans back into the couch. When a Skype call rings on his laptop, he is not willing to pick it up. It's just too far. And he would need to move. So, no. Just no.

Lydia is a bigger softie than him or she ate less than him.

“Lydia! Hi!”

“Hi, Scott.”

“Hi, buddy, what’s up?” Stiles waves from his spot.

“Just wanna know what’s new,” Scott shrugs on the small screen. “And the others wanna say hi, too.”

“The others?”

“HEY!!!” They can hear a tangle of different voices. Stiles is pretty sure he hears Allison’s clear voice. And there is also Isaac’s vague murmuring in the background and Derek's deep voice. Almost like growling. He smiles automatically.

“Scotty, aren’t you supposed to be at UCLA? What the heck are you doing in Beacon Hills? And Allison? And Isaac?” He isn’t jealous. No, sir. Okay, maybe a little but he hasn't seen them for a whole eternity, that's just unfair!

“We are all home for this weekend. Party at Derek’s.” There is some deep growling in the background, but halfhearted at most.

“Yeah, I can imagine that,” Stiles snorts.

“So we wanted to call you-”

“To mock us?” Stiles bites out with a sour smirk.

“No,” Allison takes over from Scott. “We want to have a party with the two of you, so we called and here we are.”

“That’s rubbish,” Lydia says. Scott pouts a little, Allison just looks sad. “I didn't buy any more vine, we have just one bottle here.”

Stiles chuckles. “No worries, one is enough for you. I need to go to work in a few minutes anyway, so no stress.”

“Work?! Now?!” Isaac sounds horrified.

“Yes, Lahey. Some of us need to work and make some money. NYC is fucking expensive, you know?”

“No, I only live in LA. Nothing's expensive there,” Isaac deadpans.

“New York is worse, trust me,” Derek says and his face suddenly appears on the screen.

“Hey, Sourwolf!” Stiles can’t help that smile. It’s just so natural. Derek with his broody, growly look is so fucking amusing. “Do you miss me?”

“Your constant babbling? Or your lack of brain-to-mouth filter?” Derek smirks.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe my total and undeniable awesomeness? Like, in general measure?”

“Oh my God, get a room you two,” Lydia says grimacing. Stiles glares at her. She ignores him, a little smirk tugging in the corners of her mouth. When he turns back, he catches only a glimpse of Derek’s face disappearing from the screen. Great, really. Thanks, Lydia. “So, what’s new in Beacon Hills?”

Scott and Allison talk about random stuff and Isaac and Derek interfere only rarely. But still, Stiles is sad when he needs to get his butt up from the comfy couch and go to work. Who knows when he’ll see them again all together.

***

When he comes back, the first thing he sees is the shining screen of his laptop. And then Lydia sprawled on his couch under his comforter, with an empty bottle of vine next to the coffee table. He smirks and lifts the laptop in his arms. Skype is still on. He just wants to turn it off when he spots a familiar face.

“Hey,” Derek says quietly. He probably knows about sleeping Lydia.

“Hey,” Stiles whispers. Lydia murmurs something, but doesn't wake up. “Hold on a sec, I’ll take you with me in my bed,” Stiles murmurs, and walks with his laptop in his arms into the bedroom, closing the door quietly. He puts the laptop on the right side of the bed and lies down on the other half. He can smell Lydia on the pillows and comforter but he's too tired to change them. And he likes her perfume anyway.

Derek's still there. “Where are the others?” Stiles asks sleepily.

“Went to bed a few minutes ago. You’re home late.”

“Yeah, tough night,” Stiles murmurs. “So, what did you guys talked about? Was it all about me?”

Derek chuckles. Lightly but still there's a corner of his lips curled upwards. “Mostly,” he nods almost seriously. “We all agreed that you’re a horrible person.”

“Yeah, it keeps me awake at night, Miguel,” Stiles grins. Derek’s eyebrow is scowling at him but not his eyes. No. His eyes not at all. “It’s good to have the pack home again?”

“It’s not the whole pack.” Stiles knows that but he is still happy Derek said it.

“I know. I miss you too,” he smiles sadly. “Lydia here makes it a little bit better but it’s still…”

Derek hums softly. “Do you plan coming home for Spring break?”

Stiles shrugs. “Hopefully. But I’m not sure, if I’m going to have enough money. But I’ll try.”

“Okay.”

“So, what about you?” he asks after few second of comfortable silence.

“Nothing,” Derek shrugs just like Stiles did before.

“Yeah, sure, like if that could ever happen in Beacon Hills. Come on, Sourwolf, don’t be like that. Tell me what you do all the time. Who trespassed on your mighty kingdom?”

Derek rolls his eyes but Stiles knows that he is going to tell him.

“It’s not my kingdom; I’m not the Alpha anymore. And no one terrible. Well, not too terrible, anyway.” Stiles frowns at that. “Just some omegas, two ghouls, maybe a few fairies. Nothing to worry about.”

Stiles growls and Derek silently laughs at that pathetic attempt. “I’m too far. What if anything serious happens? There would be no way for me to help you, any of you.”

“Relax, Stiles. Scott and Isaac are only two hour from here, and Cora comes by sometimes.”

“How is she?” Stiles asks. “Still wandering around? No plans, no goals?”

Derek shakes his head. “Nothing she would tell me about. But I think she works in some garage. She looks happy, though.”

“Good to hear that but you still didn't tell me what you do.” For a little moment he sees the tips of Derek’s ears blush pink. Oh my God, he thinks, is Derek Hale really blushing?! “Derek…”

“It’s late. You should go to sleep. You must be tired,” Derek mumbles.

“No way, Mr. Grumpy McBrood. Tell me, what’s going on!”

“No, Stiles. Go to sleep. Now!” Derek scowls at him.

“Don’t even try this. You've said it yourself, you’re _not_ the Alpha anymore. Tell me!”

“No,” Derek deadpans but then his face softens a little. “Good night, Stiles.”

“Night, Derek.” The screen goes black and Stiles closes his laptop with a silent click. He wants to wonder about things that Derek didn’t want to tell him but he's too tired. He passes out in a minute.

***

“What do you mean _‘can’t go’_?” Lydia asks completely perplexed.

Stiles exhales tiredly. “I told you. I need to go to work.”

“But… You've said that tonight is your night off!”

“I know, but Marv called and…”

“Who the hell is Marv?”

Stiles cocks his eyebrows. “My boss? Marv? Not important but the thing is he needs me to take shift for Tanya tonight.”

“Tanya?”

“My Co-worker, she has some troubles or something. I swear it’s an exception. I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

“Promises, promises,” Lydia mumbles but from the way she leans into the couch he knows this fight is his. “But fine, I’ll call some people from school. I think I can hang out with them for another evening.”

Okay, this was totally not a subtle reminder that he’s a bad host. He leans forward and kisses her on the forehead. “I love you. You’re the best. I promise, tomorrow, you, me and big popcorn in the cinema.”

Lydia wrinkles her nose, but smiles a little. “Fine. But if you ditch me again-”

“No. Totally not. Pinky swear?” he offers.

“What are you? A five-year-old?” but she still grabs his little finger with her own. Stiles grins, kisses her again and then takes off. He needs to be in the club in thirty.

Tanya owes him so much!

***

Stiles is leaning against the wall in the alley, biting at his bottom lip. He needs to keep it quiet but fuck… He is being thoroughly fucked by a guy with a nine inch cock and a six pack from heaven. He actually can’t keep it quiet. It could kill him, if he tried.

“God, your ass is magnificent,” the guy moans behind him as he thrusts into him. It's frenetic and random but it works, especially when he changes the angle and starts hitting Stiles’ prostate.

“Oh, fuck! Yes… right there,” Stiles moans and fucks himself on the guys’ cock. He strokes himself steadily as the guy fastens up. He can feel his orgasm building in his balls. He loves that warm feeling just before it hits him.

“God. God! Here it comes!” the guy croaks. The thrusts become aggressive, almost painful, and that's it. Stiles is coming all over his hand and the wall in front of him. He cries in pleasure when the guy behind him stiffens. “Fuck, you’re good,” Stiles moans when he slips out of him. Stiles turns around and kisses him. It's sloppy, wet and merely satisfying but not bad. This man is definitely better at fucking then he is at kissing.

“You’re good, too.” the guy smiles. “Wanna go back inside and get a drink?”

Stiles smirks and shakes his head. “No, thanks, I have some other plans for the rest of the night.”

“Okay,” the guy shrugs not offended and zips his pants back up, “and by the way, great performance.”

“Thanks,” Stiles smiles. When guy disappears he wipes his hand in a tissue and pulls his pants back up. He feels good, really good but…

Well, sometimes he thinks about what would happen, if one one-night-stand would became a regular thing. But it just doesn't feel right, for any of them. None of them could pass if he starts to compare them to- No. Dangerous path. He can't think about it like that. It could give him some nasty issues.

Stiles pulls his tips from tonight out of his pockets and takes a look. And just like that, he's smiling again. Almost four hundred for three numbers? Wow, good night indeed. Stiles puts it back in the pocket of his jacket. He totally nailed his financial problems.

***

Lydia is still up, watching him from the couch with an unreadable expression.

“Still up?” he asks and takes his jacket off and throws it on the free armchair.

“Yeah, just came back.”

“Had fun?”

“Sure. What about you?” she asks, squinting her eyes a little.

“Not so much. Was at work, remember?” he smiles and puts his feet on the coffee table.

“Yeah, the IT company in the Bronx.”

“Manhattan. It’s in Manhattan.”

Lydia look surprised. “Oh, sorry. I don’t know why I thought it’s in the Bronx,” she smiles.

Stiles stirs but then smiles. "Probably because I live in the Bronx."

“Yup, probably. So, movie tomorrow?” Lydia asks lightly.

“Sure thing. I’ll let you pick up what we’re going to watch.”

She squints at him again. “Did you do something bad?”

He tries not to feel too much guilt. “I’m neglecting you. Need to fix it. And I can skip some studying because of that,” Stiles grins, hoping she'll let it slide.

Lydia snorts. “Why I’m not surprised?”

***

Stiles has a feeling.

Okay, not exactly, more like a suspicion. Lydia is acting weird all afternoon, watching him like he's one of her school projects and asking strange questions. Because why the hell does she need to know if he bought a new detergent? It’s not like there isn't still half of the old one. And what was that thing about blood testing?

Just… _why?_

But he doesn't say anything to her. It's just easier to let her talk and tune her out when necessary.

“You’re hungry?” Stiles asks on their way to his apartment.

“Sure. Wanna go somewhere? Is there any good place where you go often?” And here they are, these narrowed eyes again.

“Duh, we can go to Jimmy’s. It’s just a diner but they make a hell out of fries.”

“I’m in, lead the way,” Lydia waves her hand in a ‘whatever’ gesture and he does. It takes them only five minutes.

When they get their order, Lydia looks straight at him. “So, what about Derek?”

“What?” Stiles’ head jerks up.

“Allison texted me this morning. You two had some chit chat last night, am I right?”

“What?” he squeaks again. Stiles coughs and tries it again. “Derek and chit chat? You can’t be that naive.”

“I’m not. And you know what I mean, don’t change the subject.”

Stiles exhales. “Lydia, don’t. Just… don’t.”

“So… nothing new, huh?” He can’t look at her. He doesn't want to see her pitying look aimed at him. He really, _really_ doesn't.

“It’s just eight months, give me some time,” he murmurs unwillingly.

“Sure.” She doesn't sound convinced but it doesn't matter when she grabs his hand, squeezing it gently. They've had a deal from the moment when she discovered his crush on Mr. Doom-and-Gloom. Lydia would not talk about it and he would not talk about her pining for Jackson.

Unfortunately, Lydia overcame her pining and Jackson in general. Stiles… well, not so much. So, now she could say whatever she wanted and Stiles could do absolutely nothing.

“He seems better. Those eight months did some good to him. He's more… or less…”

“…less broody?” she suggests.

“Yeah. Mr. Less-Doom-and-less-Gloom, I suppose.”

“Is he the reason why you didn't come home for Christmas?”

Stiles frowns. “No. I've told you and everyone else I had no money for the ticket. I would love to see my dad, there is literally nothing that could stop me. Except money, lack of it, actually.”

“So, for Spring break?”

“We’ll see but I hope I can manage some savings.”

“Good,” Lydia smiles cheerfully.

Stiles shakes his head. Some days she's still a mystery to him, most of the days, to be honest.

After they’ve finished their meal, Stiles sips from his glass filled with water and says: “I need to go to work tomorrow. Want to borrow some movies or will you go out with those friends of yours?”

“Again?” she wrinkles her cute nose with disgust.

“Yeah.” He shrugs.

“Fine. But the rest of the weekend is ours.”

He wishes. “Mornings and afternoons definitely.”

She growled at him. Like, really. And it's fucking scary!

“You need to take a break from werewolves,” he murmurs silently. “Really, they have too influence on you.”

***

It's crowded.

The air in the club after all these hours is almost unbreathable and Stiles has already finished two performances. He's tired but (and there is some irony) also full of energy. His last performance should start in a few, and he's kind of excited.

It's going to be  _him_. In the Cube.

Oh fuck, he's nervous.

The Cube is a big glass thing in the middle of the club. Everyone can see it from any place in the club. And only the best dancers/strippers can go in there. And Stiles is going to be there in four minutes.

The platform is moving up when the music starts. Stiles steps on it and grabs the pole in the middle.

He takes a deep breath. He can do this.

It's going to be fine. All fine.

He can hear the first tunes of Tainted Love by Marilyn Manson.

And there they are. Faces, lots of them. Stiles immediately pushes them away from his mind, focusing only on the music and the choreography which he invented just for this performance.

 _Slowly,_ he urges himself. _Slooowly._

His shirt is already gone when water begins to fall on him. He knew that this was Marv's plan for the big number. He just wasn't sure if people were going to like it.

They love it.

Stiles, seductively, circles his hips as he unbuttons his pants, letting them open. His hands slowly slipping down across his stomach and lower, tracking the happy trail.

And yes, he is using pole for this show. He fucking enjoys using pole. It's cold against his skin but not for long. Every place he grips is warm soon enough.

There is more screaming. Stiles loves Gay Nights.

The last part in his performance is the best. The Cube is being lifted and pulled to the ceiling. Stiles is standing in the middle of the crowd, dancing all wet and almost naked. He can interact with people and they can give him tips, which is the main point for him, of course. He's doing this for money not because he loves the way how they love him. Or for the ego boost.

Or for the fucking.

***

There are two with him. A blond one and a ginger. But it doesn't matters, as long as none of them has black hair and two hundred pounds of perfect muscles.

The blond guy is sitting on the hood of his mustang, legs spread wide and Stiles’ cock buried deep inside him. His moans are almost pornographic. Stiles really likes it.

But he likes even more the three fingers in his own ass. Ginger pumps with them and with every third move hits Stiles’ prostate. He's biting his bottom lip and breathes hoarsely.

“Spread your legs,” the ginger orders and Stiles obeys. He expects the other man's dick but instead he feels the touch of his tongue and cries out loudly.

“Fuck!”

“Yeah. He’s good with his tongue, isn't he?” the blond man smiles proudly.

“Yes, he- FUCK! Yes, he is,” Stiles admits. He thrusts in the blond guy’s tight ass, while the ginger is rimming him and spreading him with his fingers like a fucking pro. It's way too much for Stiles. He's coming fast and hard in less than two minutes.

“Fuck,” he breaths heavily. “Too good. Both of you.”

The blond one just laughs. “I prefer coming into mouth, anyway.”

Stiles lips crook into a smirk and he slowly pulls himself out from that warm lose ass. Ginger lets him do a step back and while he's taking the blond ones dick into his mouth, he pushes the head of his cock into Stiles.

“God, that feels good,” Stiles moans and the blond guy hoarsely agrees with him.

Stiles thinks for a second about his first time. Perhaps that was a harbinger for all of this. No boring vanilla with his true love. More like teaching lesson from Ethan and Danny before their finals in senior year.

The whole weekend filled with alcohol and fucking. Lots of alcohol, actually. Ethan bought it for them and they drank and drank and after that there was a lot of sex.

When they were sober it was all kind of awkward but no hard feelings.

And here he is. One cock in his mouth, one in his ass and he doesn't even know the names of their owners. Well, fuck his life. But it's still way better then pining for someone he can't have.

***

Stiles unlocks the door from his apartment but doesn't turn on any light. He knows exactly what is where so he doesn't need any light.

What he really needs is a shower. And something to drink, he still can tastes the blond ones come in his mouth.

It's a stupid risk he knows, but hey, if he ever gets HIV, he can ask Scott for the Bite. But he's been lucky until now, so what.

“You reek of sex.”

“HOLY SH-,” Stiles exclaims and falls backward on the side table. He hits his head and then falls to his knees.

“Stiles!” Lydia’s voice is just next to him.

“Fuck! Shit!” he curses and presses his left hand on the back of his head. Yeah, there will be a bump.

“Are you okay?”

“No!” he almost shouts. Then he looks up to the light. Derek glares at him, finger still on the light switch. “What the fuck, man? What are you doing here?”

“I called him. Show me,” Lydia orders and grabs his head.

“Carefully!”

“Oh, don’t be such a baby. It’s nothing.”

“Well, thanks, Doctor Martin,” he says sourly and shoves her hands away. “Now, what the fuck? Why would you do something like that?” he asks Lydia.

“You have a serious problem, Stiles. That’s why.”

He blinks. And again. “What?”

“I wasn't sure what to do. I don’t think that your father should know, so I called Derek. He’s maybe not the Alpha anymore, but he’s still a better choice than Scott.”

“What the hell are you talking about? What problem?” Stiles is utterly confused.

“Where have you been, Stiles?” Derek asks instead with a deep growl.

“Working. Jeez man, what's with you?”

“You have often sex at work?” Derek asks, his eyebrows rising a little. A lot, actually.

“Wha- I didn't have sex at work. And why do you even care, if I had sex?!”

“We know, Stiles,” Lydia says sadly.

Is this some freaking competition, like _‘Who can confuse Stiles more?’_ “Know what? Can somebody please tell me what’s going on?!”

Lydia exhales. “We know you don't work for an IT company.”

Stiles freezes. “What?” he says again. It's been definitely his favorite word for this evening.

“Just… stop lying, okay? We know.”

“But… how?” Stiles’ brain isn't in the best condition. He was hoping that he could come home, take a shower, maybe grab something to eat and go to bed. Or couch, whatever. This is… nothing he had expected.

“I saw you.”

“Saw?” he asks numbly. Then the thought finally clicks in the right place. “ _YOU SAW ME_?!” he yelps absolutely terrified.

“Yeah. I went with some friends into some club and… I saw you.”

“You… you… Why didn't you tell me?” His gaze moves towards Derek. “And why the hell did you tell him?!” He points at Derek, still brooding next to Stiles’ favorite armchair.

“I wasn't sure if you-”

“Damn straight! Because you didn't ask! That was a bitch move, Lydia!” How could she even do this to him?

Lydia winces but looks stubborn. “Stop yelling at me! I was just trying to help!”

“I don't need any help. I'm an adult and it's nobody's business how I live my life. If you have a problem with it, suck it up. If you can't, there is no need for you staying here, just find a better place.” He grabs his keys from the ground, where he dropped them, turns around and heads for the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Derek growls.

“That’s none of your fucking business, so screw you! Both of you!” He slams the door behind him and trots off down the corridor.

He feels utterly betrayed and humiliated. Fuck!

***

Stiles is sitting at the bar and watches Ted polishing some vine glasses.

“Another one?” the bartender asks after a few minutes of silence when Stiles starts turning the empty shot between his fingers.

“Yeah,” Stiles exhales and frowns. “Make it double.”

Ted’s eyebrows jerk up, but he doesn't say anything, just gives him a double shot of vodka. “Bad day?”

“You have no idea,” Stiles murmurs but Ted probably didn't hear it, because Pussycat Dolls and Snoop Dog is playing way too loud.

“Fuck it!” he overhears Tanya’s voice from the stage. “Where is that fucker? Ted, did Roy call?”

“Nah!” Ted shouts with neutral expression.

“Who does he think he is?! Stiles!”

“Mhm?” Stiles grunts slightly in reply.

“Could you help us? Roy is late and we need some guy in this choreography.”

Stiles shakes his head. “Not in the mood.”

“Come on! Pleeeease!” Tanya pleads. Stiles looks at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. She seems tired and kind of desperate. Shit. He hated how she could look at him.

“Okay, fine! Stop with those puppy dog eyes!” She smiles delightedly. He is so weak, fucking unbelievable.

“You’re the best, Stiles.” Tara, who's standing behind her, gratefully nods.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. What do you need from me?”

“Tara, can you bring him the costume?” Tanya asks her co-worker. “We need to train with it, do you mind?”

“It’s okay,” he shakes his head again. There's no reason why not. If they need him to, he’s okay with it. And maybe work will help. He just wants to not think about Lydia. And Derek.

Especially about Derek, who isn’t even supposed to be in New York or on this fucking coast, for that matter.

Stiles has spent his last night on the couch in Marv’s office. His boss understood, though. There were no questions after Stiles said to him that he had had an argument and needed to get out of his apartment. Marv just tossed him a spare blanket and told him to lock the door.

Stiles did what Marv told him and also turned off his phone. In that time he got four missed calls from Lydia and six from Derek. Also some texts he didn't read.

It took him three hours and eight shots of golden tequila from Marv’s bottom drawer to pass out.

“You should dance with us. You’re better than Roy,” Tara smiles at him. He nods appreciatively, but for some reason it doesn't mean much to him. Or maybe he wants it to mean something to someone else, which is stupid.

“Wish others thought that too,” he mutters under his breath.

He only took off for about three hours, for some workout and late lunch (more like early dinner). There's no reason to go back into his apartment. They're probably waiting for him there. Better just to stay away. So, Golden String it is. He can practice some more for his evening performances.

Marv is waiting for him.

“Finally! I have something that will cheer you up,” he smiles at him broadly. Okay... That just sounds scary. “Look.” He tosses him roll of paper. Stiles unrolls it.

“ _Fuck..._ ”

“Looks good, don’t you think?” Marv seems to be more than satisfied. For the first time in a long period of time Stiles is speechless, staring at the poster in his hands. “So?”

“You put me on a poster,” Stiles manages finally. It sounds suspiciously like he's being strangled.

“It’s well deserved. At the Ladies Night the crowd loved you. And the Gay Night? Same. You’re a star, Stiles. Oh, sorry, I mean, Wolf Boy,” he smirks, still sounding satisfied.

Stiles feels a sting in his chest when he hears that name. Originally he said it just as a joke, but Marv liked it, as well as the people, so it eventually stuck to him.

Wolf Boy. Fucking irony.

“Did Roy saw this?”

Marv stiffens. “He’ll be okay with that. He’s still in the middle.”

Yeah. Stiles isn't completely convinced about that. Roy is partially behind him on that poster… Stiles should probably be prepared for some kind of clusterfuck in his nearest future.

Because he has not enough shit on his plate already.

Great. Just great.

***

He returns to his apartment eventually. Monday morning, actually.

He unlocks the door carefully, walking right in. He really needs his text books for his classes and some clean clothes. And this _is_ still his apartment so he has the undeniable right to enter and take what he needs.

The living room is empty. He feels kind of relieved. Well, not for long anyway when the door to his bedroom swings open.

“Did you found him?!” Lydia looks miserable - hair undone, circles under her eyes that he could swing on them, face swollen.

Stiles snorts. “I wasn't looking for anyone.” He takes his jacket off. “Why are you still here?”

“Stiles? Stiles! We were so worried about you!” she exclaims and takes two steps in his direction but he walks around her and heads into his bedroom. He has all his clothes in there.

“Not necessary.”

“Where have you been?”

“Working.”

She went completely silent. He tries to ignore her and grabs some clean clothes from the middle drawer.

“Why would you do this to yourself?” she whispers and it sounds so sad. He turns sharply at her.

“Do what exactly? What’s wrong with me being a responsible adult?”

“Responsible-” Her face utterly shocks, when she says that.

“Yeah, responsible! Do you think that living here is easy? I had two fucking jobs! I spend almost thirteen hours there every goddamn day and my grades sucked. Like, big time sucked! Now? Everything was perfect until you stepped in. So thanks. Thanks for ruining everything I've finally managed to fix!”

God he's so angry! And Lydia is just staring at him with bewildered expression. But he has so much more to say, he can’t stop himself, now, when he had finally started.

“How could you call him? Just… _how could you?!_ Did you even thought about it before you did it? Last time he was in this frikin’ city, he and Laura were together. What do you think this will do to him? And what about me? I wasn’t around him for eight months! Eight!!! And now you just call him and tell him something like that? Are you out of your genius mind or what?!”

“Stiles stop yelling! I’ve just tried to help!” she defends herself.

And there is one unhappy laughter escaping from his lungs.

“Yeah, congratulations. You helped all of us, mission accomplished, hope you’re happy.” He changes and grabs his backpack from the floor in the living room. Before he walks through the door he turns to face her. “Tell him to go home. I don’t need him. And send me a message if you’re staying here, I’ll crush at work or some hostel.”

***

He should have expected that. He totally should have but he’s an idiot, so now he has an angry werewolf in front of him. No chance he could have a nice moment with his hot cup of white chocolate mocca from Starbucks across the campus.

He's looking forward to it half of the day for fuck’s sake!

“Still here. Great,” he says strongly annoyed. “Pity I don’t have any time for friendly chat, so, bye.”

He doesn’t make it before Derek steps up and blocks his path. Stiles should've known that, too.

“Stop being childish, Stiles. I just want to talk to you.”

“Well, I don’t!” Stiles spits out and tries not to think too much about how he just prove Derek right, about him being childish.

“You don’t wanna talk about your job? Fine. Let’s talk about something else.” Derek sounds more than just a little tense.

Stiles snorts sarcastically. “You actually want that _I_ talk? _You?_ ”

Now Derek looks annoyed. “Yes, Stiles. I want you to talk. With me.”

“Sorry, big guy. Not in the mood.” He tries to walk away again, but no, still no chance. “I need to go. Have some studying, you know. Important things, actually.”

“Stop acting like that!” Derek frowns. It isn't much of a change from his constant scowling.

“Like what? Like I've just been stabbed in the back by my friend? Oh, I’m so sorry if it is a problem for you. Do you feel uncomfortable?”

“You’re acting like a brat.”

“So leave. Take your ass and tight jeans and go back to Beacon Hills. Do both of us a favor. Sure you have some things to do back there.”

“Yes, I do. But I’m still here,” Derek deadpans.

They stare at each other wordlessly for a while. Stiles thinks about those moments when he imagined similar scenes. Derek's surprising visit of New York just because he missed Stiles. They would go out to eat something and maybe watch a movie. Very friendly times while Stiles is secretly pining for something more.

But hey, here they are. Dreams are not happening, what a surprise.

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t. I don’t want you to.”

Derek’s eyes narrow and then… he's smiling a little. “That was a lie.”

“Don’t! Don’t use those super-high-senses of yours on me. Just don’t. And go away, I don’t want you here.”

“Also a lie.”

“Fuck, dude! I’ve just told you something!”

“What do you want, Stiles?”

Stiles presses his teeth together. Derek’s smug expression is just so exasperating. He wants to punch him so badly - and Stiles isn't a violent person. Well, not too much, anyway.

“I want you to respect me enough to not question my fucking choices. That’s what I want. Just let me live my life how I want. I did that for you all the time.”

“True.” Derek nods slowly. “But you also told me every time when I messed up or did something wrong.”

“And most of the time you ignored me.”

“Also tru, but not that often how you probably think.”

Stiles blinks. “What?”

“I actually want to know your opinions on things. Not all, but on important ones - yes.”

“What?”

Derek exhales. “Just let me help you.”

Aaaand here it comes again. “I. Don’t. Need. Your. Help. I’m completely fine, thank you very much. Never been better, actually. My grades are finally better, I have a good job with a great boss, money, free time and a fully satisfying sex life. What the hell makes you think that I need help?”

“The fact how you make that money,” Derek is growling with irritation.

“Well, I don’t see anything bad about my job. For how much I care that is the only important thing, so suck it up, Derek. Now I’m going to back in there,” he points his finger at university campus, “and enjoy my coffee. Feel free to go back to California. Say hi to Cora for me.”

He indicates that he’ll go right, but then quickly goes left and slips around Derek and beyond his reach. In haste he jogs across the street and hides himself in the crowd of the other students.

He feels miserable.

So. Fucking. Miserable.

***

“Thanks again, Tanya,” Stiles mumbles, sending a little smile in her direction. She's standing in a big room which makes ninety percent of her apartment. There is a bed in one corner, a couch and a TV in another, a little kitchen counter in the third one and in the last one a door to a small bathroom.

“No prob. You've looked kind of desperate, if you don’t mind I say so.”

Stiles lets out some unhappy laughter. “Yeah, you can say that.”

“Love trouble, huh? Been there, trust me,” she smiles and opens a little fridge. “Hungry?”

“Nah. Thanks.” He's uncomfortable. He doesn't actually know Tanya so well, but hey, she offered that he could crush on her couch and that was better than the couch in the office belonging to his boss. Marv is amazing, but Stiles doesn’t want to push it too far.

“You were good today,” Tanya says and Stiles' left eyebrow rises. “I mean, you’re always good, but today you were even better. You should do some more performances with me.”

“You dance with Roy,” Stiles reminds her. She shrugs.

“I can do some with you, too. And Roy is annoying.”

Roy is annoying? Really? Stiles didn’t notice. It’s not like Roy wasn’t annoying from the first minute he met him or anything.

“So what do you think?”

“We can ask Marv what he thinks about it,” Stiles shrugs indefinitely and Tanya beams.

“Great! Hey, did you see those?” she asks, pulling something out from her pocket, tossing it to him. Stiles, surprisingly, catches it.

“What the hell-?”

“Marv asked me, if I could give them away somewhere. Looking good, don’t you think?”

It's a package of leaflets. Stiles takes one and watches it closely. Yeah, it's impossible to deny it. He's there, even with his artistic pseudonym.

“You’re a big star now,” Tanya teases. “Just like me.”

Stiles laughs and tosses the package back into her lap, putting the one he pulled out into a pocket of his jacket. He’ll throw it into the rubbish later.

“So, do you wanna sit here all evening like a kicked puppy?”

He looks blankly at her. “I don’t?” he asks completely unsure.

“No. No, you don’t. Come out with me. We can go dancing!”

“We do dancing for living,” Stiles reminds her sourly.

Tanya rolls her eyes. “Yes, we do. But we also can’t let our clothes on when we work. It’s not like we are doing it for fun. But this would be just for us, just for fun. Come on, Stiles! Come on!”

Stiles smiles. “You really remind me of my old friend. She would probably tell me the same thing.”

“See? You need to go, because she would want it.”

“Yeah… She would…” Erica would want many things, if she was still alive. And she would totally kick his ass to all shades of purple for all this shit he was in. “Okay. Let’s go. I can skip my morning lectures for once.”

“That’s an attitude!”

They went into a club in Manhattan; far enough from the Bronx, so Stiles could relax and stop watching every shadow like it's hiding a lurking werewolf. He was thinking about things he said to Derek. Still unsure if he didn't do a huge mistake, turning him down like that. It’s not like Derek opens himself to someone very often.

He listens what Stiles tells him when they talk. His opinion, Derek wants it.

“Shit,” he mumbles and pulls his phone out of his pocket. There are six missed calls and two messages. Both from Lydia, both filled with apologies. The second one is also mentioning her, leaving his apartment next day, so he could go back to his place. Good.

So, why the fuck isn't he happy?

“Dance, Stiles! Dance with me!” Tanya shouts and laughs. He hides his phone then and does what Tanya tells him. There is something ecstatic about anonymous crowds and loud music all mixed with beer Tanya bought them. He could drop his thoughts and just feel.

But memories of Derek’s face couldn't be flushed with any amount of beer. Or hot sex with strangers.

He still needed to jerk off in the shower later that night and he came with Derek’s name on his tongue. He managed to not let it out, but only barely. No one could ever guess how much he despised himself in that moment. He managed not to think about Derek in these moments for almost seven months.

Tired and desperate pressing his head on the cold tiles he whispers into the silence: ”I’m so fucked up.”

***

His apartment is perfectly tidy. He has probably never seen his place so clean, it's kind of scary.

He drops his backpack on the floor, putts on some music and drops himself on the couch, feet on the coffee table.

 _I’m a creep. I’m a weirdo. What the hell am I doing here?_  He repeats the words of the song by Radioheads, playing in the radio. Or maybe in his head. No matter which is true, it's still quite accurate for his situation. He changes the channel almost immediately.

 _How to be a Heartbreaker_ is a much better choice if he doesn't want to spend the afternoon in deep depression. He gets up and takes few step to the fridge. He needs a beer. Or three.

But he stops and stares at the closed door. The photo from their last summer is staring back at him accusingly. He knew that… He knew if he would tell them they wouldn’t take it good. And he wasn't wrong.

He takes his gaze away from the picture a takes a beer out of the fright.

There is a knocking at the door between his second and third gulp. “There’s nobody home,” Stiles mumbles silently and is about to ignore it. But-

“Stiles, it’s me,” Derek’s deep voice coming to him a little muffled. Stiles stiffens for a second.

“That doesn’t change anything. There’s still nobody home.”

“Just cut the crap and let me in, okay? I just want to talk to you for the last time before I leave the city.” So he is leaving? Good. That feeling in Stiles’ chest isn't disappointment, okay? He’s just surprised, nothing else.

He opens the door. Derek is standing there with a determined expression, eyebrows doing some sort of significant communication.

“So?” Stiles asks and takes a sip of his beer. But then he exhales and takes a step aside. “Come in.” This time he's not going to be the childish one.

“Thanks.”

There was a difference from how they acted at the beginning of their relationship. In that time Derek wouldn't wait for him to invite him in and definitely wouldn’t say _thanks_ , but it's not like the two-weeks-ago-old them, either. 

“Want a beer?” Derek looks surprised for a sec, but then shortly nods and Stiles gives him a bottle, cautiously avoiding looking at the photo. Derek opens it with his claws. (Stiles never gets tired of this.) He's maybe smiling a little every time he sees this. (Shut up, he can afford it; he lived with werewolves almost the last three years!) Except now. Now it seems somehow meaningless and pathetic.

“Wanna tell me something or not?”

“Lydia meant it good, don’t be too harsh on her. She’s a good friend.”

Stiles’ eyebrows climb up. He's kidding, right? Derek Hale is defending Lydia against Stiles? What just happened? Is the Earth still intact? Did the universe slipped a little and collapsed?

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure, she meant it good. She sent me that bullshit all over again several times,” Stiles smirks and pulls his phone out from his jacket. Aaaand yes, there's another text from her. “Correction, she's still sending me that bullshit. Bla, bla, bla, I’m sorry, bla, bla, I shouldn’t have done this, bla, bla. The end. Yeah, I really don’t care much. She deserves to be ignored for once in her life.”

Derek slowly shrugs. “If you think so.”

“Yes, I think, unlike some others.”

Derek silently growls, but Stiles ignores him. He drops his ass on the couch again, taking another sip from the bottle. He hears Derek move, but it isn’t until he speaks that Stiles actually pays attention to him.

“What’s that?”

“What is what?” Stiles murmurs. But there is no answer, just gasping. He turns around and petrifies. Derek is staring at the piece of paper Stiles forgot to throw in the trash earlier.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck!

“That’s nothing!”

Derek glares at him. And it’s fucking tiring, for four days he’s listening about how wrong his job is and now Derek is trying this? No. Just no.

“You know what? I don’t care. It’s my job, suck it up. I won’t take any of your bullshit anymore. I get it, you don’t like me being a stripper, well, that’s your problem. Take your beer and get the fuck out of here.”

“You’re… You’re a stripper,” Derek says numbly.

“Didn't you hear me? I've said, get out!”

“No. Stiles, we need to talk about it-”

“We were talking about it the last four days, Derek. So no. We don’t need to talk about it anymore. Just leave.”

“No, we weren't. We were talking about you being a prostitute!”

And there is a gong. Okay, so there isn't but there definitely should be a gong. For a dramatic effect, because without it there's only Stiles’ confused: “What?”

“You are a stripper?” Derek asks (but not really) with the leaflet in his hand. But Stiles doesn't listen. There is only one word resonating in his otherwise empty mind.

“Prostitute? You thought that I’m a fucking hooker?!”

“Lydia saw you-”

“Saw me? How could she see something that never happened?!” Stiles grabs his hair and pulls strong enough for pain to set his mind straight. “You believed her?” That sounded way more hurt than Stiles wanted. He actually wanted some strength in his voice, not betrayed whimper.

“I hoped-”

“You _what_? Hoped? Dude, do you even know me? After three fucking years, do you know anything about me?! Because I know things. Things about you. About others. Things that you never said and I still know them! Like the fact that you would rather die than betray your pack. Or that you’re helping Boyd’s grams and don’t tell anyone because you feel responsible. That you're sometimes answering to voices in your head. I know there are things you would never do and if anybody would try to convince me otherwise, I would send them to a fucking mental institute!”

Derek looks completely baffled. And Stiles is furious, so fucking angry and disappointed and sad. God, he's probably going to cry in any second now. He just can’t- He- Fuck this! Fuck his life! How can Derek-

“Stiles, breathe. Look at me. Breathe!” The ex-Alpha grips Stiles' arms.

“F-fuck you-u,“ Stiles wheezes and pushes Derek aside. “Don’t t-touch m-me.” But fuck his life some more, Derek’s touch is helping.

“I’m sorry, Stiles. I’m sorry.”

People all over the world, hear, Derek Hale has just apologized. But too late. Too damn late.

“Get out.”

“Stiles, please-“

“Get the fuck out! I don’t care. Go home, burn in hell, whatever. Just leave. I don’t want see your stupid face anywhere near me.”

And Derek goes. In few seconds there's just Stiles in his empty apartment with a toppled bottle of beer and Nicky Minaj yelling from radio something about heartbeat.

Well, Stiles could sincerely say that he doesn't hear anything she sings about. His heart was ripped out and tossed to fucking wolves. And it hurts.

It hurts so much.

***

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks, Tanya,” Stiles mutters and drops his bag next to her chair in the dress room. It was all the same every day during this last week. He came, she told him he looks like shit and then they started practicing their new numbers.

“It’s been a week, Stiles, why don’t you try something else? I don’t know, maybe sleeping?”

“I can’t. Trust me, I want but I can’t.”

She frowns. “Why the hell not? Did you try booze?”

Stiles snorts. “Yeah, I did. No sleep, but I throw up a lot between half-naps.” Tanya watches him as if he landed here from Mars. “Okay, I’m going to prepare the music, come when you’re ready.”

Ready. He's ready. There isn't actually anything that could surprise him at this point. He was naive and the wake-up call was a rough one.

Working is good. He needs to be focused, and it's physically hard so he ends up too tired for thinking. Also, no thinking outside this room allowed. In an hour, he's sweating and his head is full of notes from Tanya: left turn earlier, not that early, just two seconds, Christ!

“I’m sorry, we are still closed.” Stiles hears Ted calling out from behind the bar, then some mumbling and after that, Ted's shout at him: “Hey, Stiles!”

“What?!” he shouts back because he can’t turn around and still hold Tanya above his head.

“Someone’s looking for you!”

“Shit, okay, put me down,” Tanya orders and Stiles obeys and then turns around.

“Hi.”

“Lydia?”

She looks uncomfortable as she lifts her face to him. “Yes, can we talk, please?”

He turns to Tanya and she waves with her hand. “Sure, I need a break anyway.” Damn, he needed an excuse, not permission!

“Okay, come with me,” he waves for Lydia and heads to the dress room. He doesn't care if she follows. It's her call.

“I’m sorry,” she starts immediately, when he stops.

Why should I care? he wants to ask, but keeps his mouth shut.

“You have no idea, how terribly sorry I really am. I didn’t have all the information and my conclusions were totally wrong.”

“How did you know where to find me?” he asks slowly. Her apologies aren't important at the moment.

“Derek talked to me. Well, yelled at me. Shouted, roared, growled… You know what he can do when he gets mad.” Actually, no. Derek was never _really_ mad at Stiles. Though, Stiles saw him pissed, shouting at others, so. He could imagine, at least partially.

“He told you to go and apologize?”

“No,” Lydia deadpans. “That wasn't necessary, I knew, I needed to go and apologize even without his advice.”

“So, he told you.”

“Yes, but how I said, it wasn’t necessary. I am truly sorry, Stiles. I should have never assumed something like that. I just saw some guy fucking you in the alley and then you, counting some cash, and it all seemed so logical…”

“Logical,” he repeats dully. “Me being a prostitute is logical for you. Why am I not surprised?” And he isn't.  He really isn't. Lydia actually never cared for people around her. Or yes, she cares, but doesn't bother to get to know them, not really. So her assumption? Understandable. Derek, on the other hand, is the one to blame. He should know Stiles better than that.

“I’m-”

“Sorry, I know,” Stiles interrupts her. “It’s not why I’m mad at you.”

“No?” Lydia asks but she doesn't look very surprised.

“You shouldn’t have called Derek. You should have talked to me. None of this would have happened, if you did.”

“I know. Don’t you think I know that? I was so-”

“So?” he asks with his eyebrows rose.

She mumbles something under her nose.

“Didn't catch that.”

“Stupid,” she growls. “I was really stupid - don't make me say it again.”

And then Stiles is laughing. Only Lydia can make apologizing sound as if she's been wronged. But she lets him laugh and takes it with the rest of her dignity.

“Okay,” he says after he finally can speak without spurts of giggles, again. “I forgive you. But if you ever do it again-”

“I won’t! Never ever. I promise!”

“Sure,” he snorts but smiles a little. It feels so good to forgive. He was always bad in being mad at someone for more than a week.

Except for Derek. He could stay mad at him for the whole eternity. He’s fucking in love with that guy and Derek doesn’t know him. At all.

Uh, fuck.

He actually loves Derek.

He’s so fucked. So _so_ fucked.

***

“I don’t care, Lyds.”

“But-“

“I’ve said no.”

“But I already know! It’s not like I've never seen you without clothes on.”

“Still, no. You will not get to see me doing striptease. This friendship has some boundaries. You can’t go.”

Aaand she pouts. Fucking pouts!

“Stop that! I've said no. You’re still in probationary.” That worked. It has been two weeks, already, since she came and apologized to him, but not everything is okay. Not yet.

He can’t forget that easily that it’s her fault that he lost Derek.

Well, maybe not fault. More like she's been the cause of that. It's definitely Stiles’ fault. He believed in fairytales he made up in his mind. So, it’s totally his fault.

But he misses him. Incredible.

Stiles hadn’t realized it before but they used to talk. Not some big chats but a few minutes on the phone or some texts about interesting things at lectures or in the coffee shop. And there was Skyping. Sometimes they just let it on and watched movies together or baseball matches, especially those with the Mets and Dodgers. Stiles may have thrown popcorn on the screen of his laptop once or twice when Derek had said something rude about the Mets. But it’s not like Derek had never growled at him, when Stiles mocked the Dodgers, so fifty-fifty.

“Maybe you should call him,” Lydia suggests quietly. Stiles frowns.

“No.” There is no reason for another humiliation. He saw something between them that never existed. From now on they are just fellow pack mates, nothing more, nothing less.

“What are your plans for this evening?”

Lydia accepted the change of subject. “If I can’t go and watch your show, I’ll probably Skype to Allison. Don't know yet,” she shrugs. “Maybe I'll search through your porn folder.”

Stiles trips on his way to the door and she laughs.

“That was so not funny! Don’t you dare! Or at least, do _not_ complain after you do.”

Lydia rolls her eyes and ostentatiously turns Skype on. Stiles sees a glimpse of the online people column. Derek isn't among them. Not that Stiles wants to know. It doesn't matter anyway, he needs to go to work. And even if he doesn’t need to, he still would not make that call.

Just no. Not ever.

***

It's after 2 am and he's sitting in the dress room only in his jeans, too tired to do anything. Just sitting and watching his reflection is almost too much. He made _four_ performances tonight.

So unbelievably tired…

He had never realized how much he had changed over the years. Especially last year did a lot to his appearance. He's been working out regularly and his work is physically demanding, too. He doesn't look like Derek. (No one will ever look like Derek that's statistically improbable and physically impossible.) But he has clearly visible muscles. Like, abs, pecks, everything. Finally, it kind of makes sense, why people would pay for watching him throwing his clothes away, not just dancing. When he started here, he was cute and a good dancer. That's what everyone said. Now he's hot and a great dancer, false modesty aside.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?” he breaths out heavily and looks up to Tanya.

“Someone wanna see you.”

He frowns. “I’m too tired for fans, fucking, or both.”

“Trust me, you wanna see this one. I've never seen someone that hot. And he says he knows you.”

Stiles' head jerks up. Derek? “Did he tell you his name?”

“Indeed he did,” she smirks. “And he’s wearing a very familiar outfit. Leather jacket, _extremely_ tight jeans…”

Definitely Derek.

“Was he the inspiration for your best number? Is he the one who fucked up your head so much? Or maybe should I say, broke your heart?”

“Shut up, Tanya. Could you please tell him I’m not here? Just make up something,” he pleads. Yeah, sure, Derek will know she’s lying, but who cares. It’ll deliver the message.

She looks at him, surprised. “Are you sure? I mean, yeah, he’s hot like hell, but I don’t think that’s all. You like him for something, don’t you? Don’t you wanna give him a chance?”

“He doesn't want a chance, Tanya, trust me. This is all an embarrassing one-side crush and I’m not doing it again. Just send him away, please.”

“Okay, baby. Whatever you say,” she gently pats his head and leaves. Stiles exhales and rests his forehead on the table in front of the mirror. He's not a coward. This just hasn't any future and he needs time to put up with it. To make it absorbed in his mind, body and heart. The last one probably is going to resist the most.

Stiles puts his clothes on in a haste and grabs his bag. Luckily the club has a back door, so there's no need to risk and go through the entrance. Stiles slips out and looks around. He sees no one. He puts the earphones in and the hood on and heads down the street in the direction of his apartment.

Deorro urges him to walk fast. That's good. He needs his bed almost desperately. But still it takes him more than fifteen minutes to get to his door. Fifteen minutes in which he tries to figure out why Derek came back. Or was he still in NYC? Why?

He can’t figure out anything that would explain it. There’s just no fucking reason at all.

He slams the door with maybe too much strength, takes his earphones off and immediately turns the radio on. He can’t stand the silence. Silence urges him to think more and there were never any results except severe headaches.

_It’s all about us. All about us. It's all about all about us. All about us._

“You wish, bitch,” Stiles murmurs, tossing his bag aside. There's some scotch in the bottom drawer next to fridge, just when he's being really desperate about essays or something and needs to turn it all off. He grabs it and takes two gulps. That burning sensation is just what he needs if he wants to get a chance to actually sleep tonight.

_In you I can trust, it's all about us._

“Sure, because trust is not overrated, not even a little,” he snorts and takes another sip.

_If they hurt you, they hurt me too._

“Yeah.” No objections there. “Shit.” God, his eyelids are so heavy. Bed it is.

And with this, his bedroom door opens. He can see the silhouette of a perfect body and the eyes in the shade of an electric blue.

Well. “Double shit.”

“I wanna talk.” Damn, his voice. Stiles can _feel_ how his body is reacting, too tired to resist with alcohol burning in his stomach. This could become awkward very quickly.

“I've noticed.”

“You're running.” Well, that sounded strangely accusing from someone, who ran in his life more than just once.

“I would say 'avoiding', but I’ll leave it to your choice.”

“Stop with that,” Derek growls annoyed.

“Talk. No talk. You should think about what you want. I'm getting confused signals and I can’t see your eyebrows so the usual sign language is also out.”

“Stop pretending you don’t care.”

Stiles laughs. But it's just a shade of his usual laughter. “Oh, I care. And that’s the problem, you know? I need to stop care. I think, I’ll go to sleep, that’s gonna be a good start.”

“Damn it, Stiles. I've made a mistake, I know that! I shouldn't have believed what Lydia said, and I didn't, but then you came in and I could smell all those people on you… and I panicked,” he admits quietly.

“So, I like threesome, sue me. I like the feeling that my potential is fully used. You should try it sometimes. Maybe you would be less tense.” Okay, now he just wants to piss him off, but who can blame him? That fucking werewolf just waltzes into his life, again, and now everything should be okay? No, Stiles doesn't think so.

Derek is no longer in the doorway. Now he's just one step from Stiles and the younger man can’t recollect how he got there.

“It’s not about how much you like fucking. I just- I’m trying to say here that-“

“You panicked. Yeah, I heard. So what? Wanna hug and a fresh dose of cookies? Sorry, pale, not in the mood for baking.”

“Stiles!”

“Night, Derek, close the door behind you,” he murmurs tiredly and thinks about how he needs to get better locks on his windows. Are there some anti-werewolf locks?

“Fine, want to go to sleep? Good, go, I’m going to wait here until you wake up and then we’re going to talk.”

“ _What?_ ” Stiles sputters in shock. “No way. Just go somewhere else and then fly home in the sunrise or something.”

“No.” That's everything Derek says.

“No? This is my place! Take your werewolf ass and leave!”

“You mention my ass a lot.” Is that smug on Derek’s face? Stiles is bewildered. And pissed.

“Because all I wanna do is kick it!”

Derek quietly laughs. What the fuck?! “That was a lie.”

Now it’s Stiles' turn to growl. It's weak and utterly human, but it shows his irritation quite nicely. “Go fuck yourself!”

He feels hollow of Derek’s breath on his cheek, when his unwanted visitor closes the distance between them. There is some involuntary heavy swallowing at that point. “Maybe I prefer _you_ to do it.”

And the whole Earth falls silent.

“What?” Stiles manages after few seconds of staring into the werewolf’s face.

“What, if I want  _you_  to fuck me, Stiles,” Derek repeats slowly.

“I’m drunk.”

Derek snorts. “No, you’re not.”

“Oh yes, I am. That explains everything. I’m so drunk. This is another messed up dream that will haunt me for weeks. I need to wake up right now. Come on, Stiles, just wake up,” he says and pinches himself into the forearm.

...And hissed at the sharp pain. Fuck, he's not sleeping.

“No, you’re not dreaming.”

“But you’ve just said-”

“Yes. Do I need to repeat it for the third time?” Derek just stands there, seemingly calm but his shoulders are visibly tense. Stiles is confused.

“Is this a pity? Are you pitting me?”

“What?” Derek winces. “No. Fuck, Stiles, I’m not offering you a pity fuck.” He seems angry, again.

“Good,” Stiles breaths out and smashes their mouths together. It's not heaven, but it's not hell either. It's hard and wet and scratchy because of Derek’s stubble. There is going to be some stubble burn, that’s for sure.

But Derek’s mouth is warm and welcoming and the only thing Stiles can think of is how long he’s been waiting for this. Three fucking years. Three! He moans and pushes at Derek’s shoulders.

Derek takes his hint and backs into Stiles’ bedroom. Somewhere in the middle of the room Stiles takes off Derek’s jacket and tosses it aside, then his own t-shirt and then lets their mouths collide, again. Derek grunts in satisfaction as he touches the bare skin of Stiles’ back. His left hand moves higher up to his shoulder blades and the right slips on the belt of Stiles’ jeans.

Stiles’ breath hitches in his throat as Derek slips a little lower and grabs his ass. “Fuck!”

“We’ll get to that,” Derek says hoarsely and presses his mouth on the side of Stiles’ neck. That's something he always did in every fantasy Stiles ever had but this is thousand times better. This is real. Derek nipping thin sensitive skin on his neck is just too unbelievable even for Stiles' creative brain.

Stiles is painfully hard in his jeans and as he grits against Derek he can feel he’s not the only one. That thought almost knocks him out. Derek wants him. Derek Hale actually wants him.

He moans again and tries to tear Derek’s henley off of him. He needs those abs under his hands. Like, yesterday. Derek helps him with it and hisses with pleasure when he can feel Stiles’ hands on him.

“If you've changed your mind- I- I need to know, now,” Stiles breaths out erratically. Derek doesn't say anything, just pulls his face back and kisses him hungrily.

“Oh God,” Stiles moans into Derek’s mouth and lets him take them onto the bed. Somehow Derek makes it on top and stares at him with those electrically blue eyes, which Stiles missed a lot, when Derek was the Alpha. He didn't know what that color meant back then, now he knows, and he doesn't care. Derek is not a murderer, no matter what the color says. He took that life because he was merciful.

He completely misses the moment when Derek unbuttons his pants but he notices when he begins to take them off. Derek mutters, half-surprised, half-satisfied, when he finds out that Stiles has no underwear on. (What? He was tired and maybe a little lazy. Shut up!)

Stiles gasps when Derek wraps a hand around his cock. Surprise is like an electric shock and Stiles’ body arches into it. Shit. How can it be that good? It’s nothing, yet. Derek just touched him. For the first time. Yeah, no biggie. It’s not like Stiles could come in any second just because of that thought.

“You smell good,” Derek murmurs between kisses he pleads on Stiles’ chest.

“Do I?” Derek's hand strokes him slowly. Mmmm. What was he talking about?

“Yeah. You do.” Aaaaand there's some licking. And biting. And fuck Stiles is close!

“Derek, just-”

“Shut up, Stiles,” the older man murmurs and then he finally uses his mouth for something useful.

Stiles may or may not whine a little. Or a lot. No, when Derek kissed him that definitely wasn't heaven. But Derek blowing him? Damn, that definitely is! Hot mouth wrapped around him, sucking and licking. God, Derek is good. So good. Stiles is not going to last. Not like that. He's been waiting for this too long.

“Derek, fuck, I-“ He wants to warn him, give him time to retreat. Derek does just the opposite. He swallows Stiles’ dick deep and that's it. Stiles is coming with a shriek.

Gasping in his afterglow, he tries to tell his brain to calm the fuck down. This was embarrassingly quick, so he needs to man up. Derek hums contentedly and releases Stiles from his mouth with a dirty wet pop.

“Damn you, Hale,” Stiles croaks and grabs at the werewolf’s arms and pulls him up. All he can think of is how Derek probably tastes right now so he does the only right thing. His tongue slips between Derek’s lips and taste them, both of them. When their tongues brush against each other, Derek thrust with his hips forward in silent demand.

Stiles smiles. Eager much? This feels more than just good. Derek wanting him… Yeah, he could get used to that, which is a terrifyingly dangerous thought.

Stiles switches their positions and pleads soft kisses on Derek’s chest, just over his strong, beating heart. His tongue lingers on Derek's nipples and fascinating abs until he gets to the waist of Derek’s jeans. He looks under his lashes and sees Derek’s teeth sinking into his bottom lip. Stiles squeezes his thighs in his tight jeans and listens to the deep growl in the older man’s throat.

“Are you sure?” Despite his previous words, Stiles needs to ask again. If he crosses this line, there’ll be no way back. Not for him. Not ever.

“Take them off already,” Derek barks almost angrily. Stiles smirks.

“As you wish.” And he does. He pulls them off surprisingly easy and between him and Derek’s erection remains only thin cloth of dark grey briefs. (He expected black, though. But hey, close enough.) He takes them off easily. And… fuck… he can’t resist. He leans forward and licks the length of Derek's uncut dick, teasingly kisses it’s head.

“Hell!” Derek curses. “Stiles!”

“More like heaven,” Stiles murmurs half to himself. “Hand me the lube,” he asks and waves in the direction of the nightstand. Derek stretches himself and Stiles repeats that licking part. There is some more cursing. Then a little bottle lands near Derek’s left thigh and Stiles pushes a small puddle of it into his palm and warms it up, while he strokes Derek’s length with his free hand. Derek’s gasping sounds are making him hard pretty quickly but the sensation of taking Derek's cock into his mouth is even more devastating.

“Stiles!”

Stiles hums and sucks harder, then brushes his slick fingers over Derek’s rim and pushes the tip of the first finger in.

Derek moans. That sound is fucking pornographic! Stiles shutters with pure lust but makes himself move slowly and carefully. Derek is going to enjoy this even if Stiles needs to die for that.

Stiles pushes his finger further, patiently stretching Derek’s hole. God, the only thing he can think about is pushing himself in, into this tight warm ass. He knows Derek will be perfect for him, he just fucking knows it.

“Stiles, more. Damn it… more!” Derek commands and he gladly obeys, adding another finger. And after a short while a third one. He’s licking Derek’s cock just for a little while but he knows he could do it for the rest of the eternity, he’s sure of that.

Derek is trembling and vacillates between growling and moaning. Best sounds Stiles ever heard. He’s painfully hard, again, just from listening to him and watching Derek so open and ready for him. He can smell lust and sex in the air surrounding them.

“God, I wanna fuck you so much,” he whispers and sounds totally wrecked even to his own ears.

“So fucking do it,” Derek’s growls at him.

“Yeah.” Stiles’ brain is so lost. No thoughts whatsoever, just Derek’s sweaty body in front of him. “Yeah,” he repeats and wants to stretch for a condom when Derek stops him.

“No need. Just do it.”

“But-“ Stiles is suddenly uncertain. He was with a lot of people, not safe every time.

“I can’t catch anything… and you're healthy anyway, I would smell it. Stop with that goddamn teasing and fuck me already!” Shining blue eyes staring at him from the stubborn face, thick eyebrows frowning. That's it. There is no way he could argue with those eyebrows. He leans forward and their mouths collide in an open wet hungry kiss. At that, Stiles pushes himself in.

God, he knew it. All his fucking fantasies in one and it still wouldn't be enough. It's perfect. More than perfect! Derek’s ass is a goddamned miracle.

“Fuck!” Stiles moans and concentrates all his will power on not coming in that second. “Fuck, you’re tight!”

Derek moans.

“Perfect. Fucking glorious. Is there anything about you that is not perfect? You’ll be the death of mine, I swear,” Stiles babbles in an attempt to distract himself. But then Derek moves and thrusts his ass against Stiles’ dick and that's it. No way he can do this and stay sane. So he’s starts thrusting into Derek because if he needs to go to hell, he can do it with style and fuck that's so insanely unbelievable! Or maybe unbelievably insane… He isn't sure, his brain is preoccupied with the fact that he is buried balls deep inside of Derek fucking Hale!

He changes the angle and his cock is now rubbing on Derek’s prostate. That forces Derek to make even more incredible noises. And… fuck! He's actually losing it. Stiles can see how hard Derek tries to not wolf-out.

“Don’t,” he breaths out heavily, ”don’t fight it.” Derek blinks with surprise and for a few seconds he looks unsure but then Stiles starts to stroke him… and he loses it. He arches his spine and throws his head back, fangs clearly visible, and quietly howls when his orgasm hits him. Derek is coming all over his stomach and Stiles’ hand, his ass clenches around Stiles’ dick.

That was the last straw, Stiles cries, coming hard inside him.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck!” He's so done! Now he can’t have sex with anyone else because Derek destroyed him for all seven billions other people on this planet. No one can beat this.

Derek snorts with a laughter and spares him a look. He looks amused and thoroughly fucked, glistening with sweat and come. God, he's never looked hotter. Damn it!

Stiles uses the rest of his strength and carefully slips out, disappears into the bathroom to clean himself and wets some cloth for Derek.

When he comes back, the werewolf is still in his bed but now he lies in the right direction with one pillow under his head. Stiles tosses him the cloth and crashes on the free space next to him.

They should talk. They _need_ to talk about this. About everything. But Stiles is tired. So damn tired all the time. He slept like twelve hours in the last two weeks but now he suddenly feels like he actually could sleep.

And he's out before he even realizes it.

***

Stiles wakes up with a gasp. There are hands on him, very persistent hands, but in the best way, at least as far as he can tell from his physical reactions. He spreads his legs wider in clear invitation. He's expecting fingers slick with lube, so he almost yelps when he feels the warm touch of a tongue.

“Holy shit!” he gasps, fisting the sheets next to his head. He can’t stop his needy moans. He loves this from everyone, really, but the thought that it’s Derek’s tongue? Shit, that's almost too much. Derek fucking Hale giving him a rimjob, that’s just... Oh. He’s dreaming. That totally makes sense. “If someone wakes me right now, I’ll be seriously pissed.”

He yelps as Derek bites him in the left butt cheek. “What the actual fuck?!"

"Still think you’re dreaming?” Derek’s voice comes out rough, but Stiles can still hear the hint of a smile in it.

“Asswolf,” he murmurs and hisses on another bite. Then he hisses again, but in a completely different tone, when Derek pushes his tongue inside him. “Damn you!” He grabs the sheets again.

He could actually lose his mind this way and Derek doesn't seem to mind because he's still teasing him with absolutely no haste. Lazy licking and pushing him into the sheets with his hands on his cheeks so he can’t move, not even a little.

“Fuck, Derek, stop teasing me!”

“Why?” What the- What? “You teased me for a fucking half an hour you little shit. Enjoy my retribution.”

“Your what?” Just… _what?!_ He wasn't teasing! He just- Okay, maybe there was some teasing, but this is just cruel. Another lazy thrust of Derek’s tongue makes him crying out loudly. He is so hard that he can _hear_ the buzz of blood in his dick.

“I fucking hate you, Hale,” he moans into the mattress and tenses when Derek starts to lick him harder. For Stiles it was like hours. His throat sore because he couldn't stand quiet and his body trembling like he's having a seizure. Derek’s fingers open him wide and at the end he's begging Derek to fuck him already.

God and he does. Stiles can't last more than four or five minutes of erratic thrusting. Derek keeps him pressed into the sheets with his chest on Stiles' back, teeth sinking into the crook of his neck. One hand threading under his arm, palm on his shoulder, the other one holding his hip, making him steady.

“Derek, shit, Derek, I can’t-“

“Stiles,” Derek moans almost desperately. Stiles feels his balls tightening and gasps. Derek nips at his ear, when he hoarsely whispers: “Come for me, Stiles.”

And he does. He fucking does. Completely untouched and out of his mind. “Derek!” He reaches out and grabs for the older man’s hair. “Damn, I love-”

And with that Derek is coming, sinking his teeth deeper into Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles hisses with pain. Fuck that is going to bruise. But to hell with it, it doesn't matter. None of it matters in this moment.

“What were you saying?” Derek asks quietly, nuzzling his neck.

“When?” Stiles is drowning in his afterglow.

“Just now.”

Stiles frowns. He was saying anything?

“Don’t remember, sorry.” Derek exhales, lazily kissing the curve of Stiles’ shoulder. He pulls himself out gently and Stiles whines quietly at that loss. His body is too jelly-like for anything, so he just falls forward and ignores that he’s lying in his own come. But Derek actually roles him aside and cleans him up. Stiles genuinely smiles with his eyes closed. He feels Derek’s motions and he’s not surprised when the werewolf pulls him into his arms.

“Just for the record,” Stiles mumbles almost sleeping, “you’re still an Asswolf.”

Derek snorts with a quiet laughter and with that, Stiles is sleeping.

***

He takes a shower, puts on some clothes and makes a fresh pot of coffee. He slept more than ten hours and he was still up first. Maybe he wasn't the only one exhausted. But whatever reason Derek has for sleeping so late, Stiles is grateful. He could use some time to think.

After his second mug of coffee his brain finally begins to work like usual. He lies down on the couch with earphones in and the third dose of caffeine in his palms.

So… Where were they?

No matter what happened last night, the fact is he made up his own version of Derek. Derek, who actually knows him. Reality is different and disappointing. But he can't blame Derek for that. It isn't his fault that Stiles let his imagination run too wild.

The problem is that Stiles actually doesn't know what Derek wants. Yeah, he was quite clear last night but it didn’t exceed to the next day. There is no way Stiles could handle Derek leaving. Something was telling him this time that there would be no return. But he needs to come with some solution; he can’t force Derek to stay, either. And he shouldn’t. There was maybe some great sex but that’s not all. They need something more and there maybe isn’t anything like that.

Nothing whatsoever. Hell that was depressing.

For few minutes Stiles just taps the rhythm of a songs on the side of his mug and then with a resigned breath, pulls papers to him and starts taking notes on choreographies, which came to him with different songs. Now, when he' making them also for others, he needs every idea he gets. Sipping coffee every once in a while he's working, until hunger comes and begins to disturb him with loud growling.

He takes a look into the almost empty fridge and snorts. “French toast is it then”, he says resignedly and pulls out the eggs. It takes him just about fifteen minutes to prepare enough toasts for four people. He still isn't sure, if it’s enough for him and a werewolf, though.

“Morning.”

Stiles almost jumps completely startled, when he hears Derek’s rough voice, heart pounding in his chest.

“Fuck, Hale! Don’t do this to lesser people, we actually can have a heart attack.” He turns to the man, whom obviously didn't consider it necessary to put on his shirt. He's standing there only in his jeans and Stiles mouth goes dry immediately. “And it’s not morning, just so you know,” he croaks.

“Is that a breakfast?” Derek completely ignores his words and luckily also his staring. And his music, why the fuck he’s listening to songs for his work right now? Nine Inches Nails definitely aren't the best thing now. Especially Closer (, which actually pretty accurately describes the events of last night. Fuck. Yeah, that too.)

“Hungry?” Stiles asks faintly when he turns it off in a haste. _Really smooth, Stilinski._

Derek nods in confirmation and Stiles hands him the plate with the most of the French toasts. Derek hums in appreciation. Then he pulls out a phone from his pocket, Stiles’ phone to be exact, and hands it to him. “Someone called. Tanya. I should tell you to call her back.”

“You took it?” Stiles asks surprised. Derek shrugs.

“I was sleeping. I didn't think about it.”

Stiles nods and looks at his phone. He should… “I- I think I better give her a call first.” Tanya wouldn't call without a good reason. They were friends now but still not that kind about-nothing-chatting-buddies like he's with Lydia or Scott. Or Derek. Before.

Derek shrugs again and sticks one whole toast into his mouth. Stiles blinks after a few second when he realizes he’s staring at him. Damn, just… there were some memories about that mouth, he can’t just put them aside and forget about them.

“What’s up?” he asks when Tanya picks it up.

“You fucked him!” He jerks his head back from the rep. That was pretty loud even for her.

“What?” he asks confused. “No I didn't. Roy is a douche, I would never touch him!”

She exhales dramatically. “Not Roy, you idiot. That hot piece of ass from yesterday. That one you weren’t hiding for in the dress room like a frickin’ rabbit. I totally recognized his voice when he picked up _your_ phone. He sounded wrecked, good job little wolf.”

Derek chokes on a third toast. Stiles almost facepalms himself but instead he just moans really unhappily.

“What? Did I misunderstand something? Did he left? Did he do something? He didn't break your heart all over again, did he? Because I know some people-“

“Oh my God, Tanya, stop! Just- Stop, please. You’re so not helping anything right now, you have no idea.” Stiles really wishes he could actually vanish in a thin air or something. His face is burning, so he knows his skin has a color of a boiled lobster.

“Just sayin’ that I can and will kick his ass if he did something-“

“He didn't, okay. Not broken anything. Can you please drop it?”

“Okay,” she chirps as a bird. “Was he good?”

“For fuck’s sake, Tanya!”

“What? We both know that he is exactly that type you never fuck. You take everyone, but every time some dark dangerously looking bad-boyish type with impossible amount of muscle and scruff came, you've said no. I bet my ass that I met the reason for that yesterday. You’re textbook example of a broken heart in faze of denial.”

“Please tell me there is an actual reason for me calling you, because if it’s not I need to go to throw myself through the nearest window.”

“Oh, don’t be such a drama queen, wolfie. Of course there is a reason. I need a favor.”

Sure. He is so not in the mood for doing her any favor. “You don’t deserve any,” he grits out, irritated.

“Well, I still need it. Can we switch for today? Before you ask, Marv is okay with it. My grams is arriving into the city tomorrow and I need to walk her to the hospital. So, can we switch? Pleeeease!”

Shit, like he could say no to this. Sneaky bitch, she knew that. “I’m such a wimp. You and your convincing powers make me sick.”

“Is that a yes?” her voice hopeful.

“Yeah, whatever. If Marv is okay with it, I'm too.” He is so not okay with it, he can’t even tell. It was his only escape plan, if things get too awkward. He could vanish in an hour or so, but now? No excuse whatsoever.

“I love you! I really do. You’re my savior and I would do anything for you, wolfie.”

“Fine, than stop calling me wo- like that.”

Tanya giggles. “As you wish, Wolf Boy.”

“Fuck you, Tanya!”

“Let’s not take your wishes too far.” Her laughter is really irritating. He never noticed before.

“I’m hanging up on you right now.”

“No, wait! I have a message from Marv.” She's sounding serious, now. Stiles frowns.

“What message?”

“He said I have to tell you that someone ordered you for a private party for the next Friday. Some bride or something.”

“Really? Why me?” That's surprising. No one ever orders him for private parties at the club.

“Don’t know, but Marv said they were pretty specific. They know _all_ your performances and they made a list which ones they want.” She giggled again. “Guess which one they want most?”

Oh my… He really doesn't need to guess. “You think…”

“Yes! Exactly! Your tight-jeans-leather-jacket one.” Aaaand she's laughing again. “Isn't it fucking hilarious? Just when the real one ends in your bed. I’m dying here, karma is such a bitch!”

“Karma is bullshit and you really need to shut up,” Stiles hisses only one step from a furious state, “or I’ll call Marv and tell him that I’ll come to work tonight and not tomorrow.”

“Too late, I've already told him you've said yes. No hungry eyes will see your naked bod tonight, but I’ll tell them you say hi,” she provokes, way too happy for his mood.

“I’m so not doing any new choreography for you. Never. Ever. Again.”

“Oh shush. You have such a miserable mood for someone who just got laid from the hottest man I've ever seen.”

He is going to kill himself. No, he is going to kill her, and then himself.

“Silence means consent. Or are you still in denying mode?”

“I’m not denying anything!”

“Oh yes you are. I've studied psychology.”

“No, you have not, liar.”

“Hey! Okay, maybe not in the way you do, but I took evening classes for two months!”

“Fine, you did. Now, stop profiling me and go bothering Ted or someone.”

“Oh, did I upset you? Do you need a hug?” He growls at her. Again. She laughs. Again. “Good, so go and tell him to hug you!”

“I’m hanging up on you!”

“And fuck him once for me!” He presses the canceling button too late because he can still hear the last sentence. The room is dead silent. Not even a sound of breathing. This is so fucked up.

Finally Stiles takes a breath and speaks without looking at Derek. “She’s got nothing right. I’m not brokenhearted or in denial. I’m not talking with you about any of my choreographies, either. Ever. Whatever you think, don’t, just eat your fucking toasts and shut up. I need to go to jump from that fucking window.” With that he goes into his bedroom and closes the door behind him.

He doesn't jump, though. But he absolutely tries to drown himself under the faucet.

His head is like a beehive. So many thoughts he can’t catch and when he accidentally does, it gives him a sting. A painful one.

Derek heard everything. There's nowhere to go because it’s not like the thin wall between living room and bedroom would mean any difference to Derek's werewolf super powers. No chance he didn’t catch every damn word Tanya said. Why didn't he hang up on her at the beginning? Why the hell didn't he do that?!

Because he’s a polite imbecile, that’s why.

If there is any karma, it really didn't do good job because he shouldn't have all this shit in his hands for his good heart and good manners. He actually helped an old lady last week! All of this is so not fucking fair.

And she was wrong about everything! He is not in denial. He can without any problems admit to himself, that he is in love with Derek. And that he wants him so badly, it shouldn't be physically possible. Especially after last night because now he _knows_ what he wants and it's going to be so much harder from now on. He could touch him, taste him, kiss him, fuck him…

“I’m so screwed,” he announces to his reflection in the mirror in front of him. “So, _so_ screwed.”

Then he pulls out his phone and types a short message to Lydia. **What should I do?**

He doesn't need to wait long for the answer. **He made an honest mistake. Bcs of me.**

Of course she knew; who is he talking about. That's just Lydia. **Yeah, that was ystrd's issue. Tdy’s drama is that we fucked. All n8.**

**1\. TMI 2. Was it good? 3. U should talk 2 him.**

Great advise. **Tell me smthg I DON'T know!**

 **If u know, why do u ask?** Okay, good point, but hey, he needs something better than ‘talk to him’. **Where are u anyway?**

**In the bathroom.**

**Stiles Stilinski r u HIDING in the bathroom?** How could any message sound so threatening?

**Kind of?**

**Get ur ass out of there and talk to him!**

He frowns in the direction of his phone, which brought him all these terrible news; ergo it's all its fault.

**NOW!**

**OK stop yelling! I just don’t know what to tell him!**

**And that is?**

There was no answer on that one. Stiles exhales. Great. Now he’s double screwed. But he can’t hide in there anymore. It's already embarrassing enough.

He gets up from the floor where he sat down a few minutes ago and turns off the running water.

Derek is standing in front of a window with a mug of coffee in his hands and doesn't look in his direction when he enters. There's only Stiles’ plate with toasts on the table, Derek’s plate is nowhere to be seen - probably cleaned and returned safely back where it belongs.

“So…” Stiles starts after a few seconds of tense silence. The problem is that he has no idea what to say. Maybe he should have said something before that call from Tanya, but now?

“So?” Derek asks after a minute of an awkward silence.

“This is fucked up.”

“Is it?” Derek’s face is intentionally blank. He's still looking out of the window, even if Stiles knows there is nothing except brick wall belonging to the house next to this.

“Yes, it is,” Stiles nods.

“What do you want to do about it?”

Stiles laughs without any hint of happiness in it. “I’m trying to figure that out since almost two weeks. Still have no idea. You?”

Derek’s gaze finally turns to him and pins him on the spot. “I came here to apologize. This,” he waves one hand in the direction of the bedroom, “I wasn't planning on it but I don’t have any problem with it, either.”

Oooookay. This is not helpful at all. But it's an actual surprise for Stiles. There is no regret on Derek’s side? “No problem?” he repeats in disbelief.

“I messed up and wanted to fix things.”

“Like that?” Stiles repeats Derek’s gesture to the bedroom.

Derek scowls. “No. Not like _that_.”

“So what was your plan?”

Werewolf shrugs. “I don’t know. I've planned to stay here and try until you would stop and listen.”

Wow. How is this Derek Hale Stiles knows? Or thought he knows? “Okay, so hypothetically, if I would listen and I forgive you, what would be the next step?”

Derek takes a sip of coffee. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On your answer.”

“Answer to what question?” This is fucking exhausting. Stiles would think Derek is playing with him, if he wouldn’t be so deadly serious.

“That’s not important anymore. I think I know the answer.”

“Whaaat?” Stiles doesn't squeak. Just no. Not happening. Not in this universe.

“She said, you fuck only people who don’t look like me.”

“What has that got to do with anything? It’s not your freaking business who I fuck.”

“I've done the opposite. I could _only_ fuck people who remind me of you.” Stiles’ jaw drops. _What the actual fuck?!_ Did Derek just- “But still, everyone else _isn't_ you. It turned out to be a huge problem for me.”

“...I think I get that,” Stiles admits reluctantly. Derek smiles. Well, not smiles, but there's that almost unnoticeable upturn in one corner of his mouth and Stiles knows it's Derek's own version of a smile.

“I don’t want to lose you, Stiles. I don’t, especially not now.”

Now? What is that supposed to mean? “What made you change your opinion?”

“Opinion?” Derek asks utterly confused.

“Yeah. Opinion. Why are you suddenly interested?” He can't believe he’s actually asking about this. Even to himself he's sounding like some whinny teen girl. He should shut up and take what universe gives him. No questions needed. But he’s an idiot, he needs to know. He can’t just… No. He needs to know, now.

Derek exhales, slowly, tiredly. “There was never another opinion, Stiles. This was just a very slow build because of my trust issues and loads of other shit in my life. But a long time ago I was aware of… this,” he waves in vague gesture between them.

Stiles is speechless. Not just because Derek actually answered his question but because that answer contained thoughts. Emotions. Feelings. And Derek said it out loud.

Just… wow.

He collapses onto the couch, expression of disbelieve still on his face. Derek seems to be aware of the fact that he actually made Stiles speechless. This is a memorable day in so many ways. They should document this for the next generations. And for the science. Definitely for the science.

“I needed to sort out my own life before I could do something about it. And then Lydia called. You know how well that went,” he murmurs unhappily. Green-brown-blue-gray eyes darkened with regret.

“Yeah.” It didn't sound mockingly like Stiles planed. More like, fondly, shit. “So you did?”

“What?”

“Sorted your life?”

Derek nods. “Most of it, yes. The hardest part is still before me. Literally.”

Literally? _Oh_. Well that's something. Something… “You didn't tell me. I mean sooner, when we talked. You never mentioned you’re trying to do something about, well, everything.” He really tries not sound hurt or betrayed. He isn't completely successful, though.

“Stacy said I shouldn't. Yet. And I wanted for it to work first. If it wouldn't, it would be disappointing for more people than just me. That was unacceptable.”

“Stacy?” Some Stacy could know when Stiles couldn't? Yes, he is jealous, shut up! He has every right to be, where was that Stacy when the Alpha pack attacked them? Or Darach? Or those witches last summer, huh? Where was she-

“She’s my therapist.”

Oh. Stiles blinks and calms down. “Therapy?”

“Your father’s idea,” Derek admits and his cheeks blush a little. Like, what the fuck?! His father knew?! Jealousy was back. “That was actually the first reason for all of this. He… he got an idea and kind of persuade me. And then told me that I need this, so…”

“You think you would like to elaborate a little?” Stiles is so lost in all of this. This is like some really fucked up dream. When he saw A Space Odyssey for the first time he felt like this. (He was nine by the way, he had right to be confused about that movie!) There was a lot of silence, an unborn baby, and those psychedelic colors. He had nightmares a whole month! (Pictures of unborn babies still scare the shit out of him, but less now, partly.)

“He suggested a new career for me.”

Stiles’ eyebrows jump a bit. “More elaborate maybe?”

Derek exhales. “He suggested I could do what he does.”

For one second Stiles wanted to say ‘Eat lots of vegetables to be healthy?’ then it clicks on the right places. “Cop? He wants you to be a cop?!” he gasps, all the worst scenarios running through his head. There are some bad cop death glares, explosions, death glares, corpses, death glares, lots of maiming and more death glares. Also a cop uniform. That is one hell of an inappropriate thought. Shit. Derek in uniform, that is SO hot! Damn! “Yeah, I can see that,” he says slowly, still half dazed by that thought. “I actually can picture that perfectly.” His mouth goes dry and Derek chuckles. That wakes Stiles from his daydreaming about cuffs and aviators. “You were saying?” he asks and violently pushes all fantasies aside.

“When he came with that idea, I thought it’s bullshit. He thought it’s genius. He won.”

Now is Stiles' turn to chuckle. “Yeah, that sounds a lot like him. Lesser people can’t stand against Stilinski’s mind power.” Derek glares at him but then exhales heavily, which is acknowledgement as good as any.

“After a few weeks I said yes. Then he came with all that need for therapy because there was no chance they would accept me anywhere with my issues. He called Stacy and then came to me with a date and an address. No questions, just ‘here is your new therapist, go’.”

“And you went.” It's not a question. More like admiration that he didn't rip his father’s throat out.

“Yeah. I went. She must have told him I've actually been there because the next day I met him he looked so damn proud. I wasn't planning on going there for the second time but…”

“You didn't want to let him down,” Stiles smirks. “Trust me, I know that feeling. Guilt is a bitch.”

“Yeah.”

“So what’s next? Your therapy seems going well.”

“Actually yes, it’s not that intense, now. More like, emergency calls and a regular visit once a month. Except for the last two weeks,” he admits quietly. Now Stiles is the one feeling guilt like a chainsaw in his guts. He knows now how hard Derek has been working on this and he almost ruined it all. unintentionally, but still. If he wasn't acting like a brat- “But I did my tests earlier so-“

“Tests? Which tests?” Stiles cuts him in the middle of the sentence.

“For the NYSPA. The Sheriff wrote a recommendation for me,” he mumbles shyly, “and I passed the tests. I wanted to tell you because-”

“Are you going to study? In NYC?”

Derek nods hesitantly. Stiles stares at him. A few minutes pass in complete silence, just their breaths hissing in and out.

“I- I think, I need- Drink. Yup, I think I need a drink.” He gets up and goes for the bottle of the whiskey from yesterday. He pours some into a glass and drinks it with smooth movement. “Arghh, that’s disgusting. But it helps. Yup, helps a lot. Want some?” Derek smirks and shakes his head. Stiles shrugs and pours another one for him. With that he sits on the short kitchen counter.

“So… You actually have a whole secret identity. You've been lying to me for how long? All that nine months?” He's not offended, just curious.

“Eight. Roughly.”

“Sure. And except my dad, who knows?”

“Only Scott. I had to ask him, he’s my Alpha.”

“Right. And that S- S-“

“Stacy.”

“Yeah, Stacy, she told you not to tell me until-?” Derek scowls. Finally, they are getting somewhere! Uncomfortable means important.

“Until I could handle your answer.” _His rejection_ went unspoken.

“Oh. That’s probably smart.”

“Yeah.”

“So now you could handle if I say no?”

“I hope so,” Derek slowly nods, staring at him, his body tensed like if he wants to jump and throw himself out of the window. Stiles knows that feeling pretty well. They are actual buddies with that feeling, now.

“Hmm. Tough one, because actually I should be angry with you. Hell, I know _I am_ still angry with you. But somehow it’s not important anymore. Do you have any explanation for that?” he asks curiously. Derek’s face gets a whole new expression. Stiles actually never saw him hopeful before. It's a good look. He smiles, but then immediately scowls, because there is something- “Just to be clear, I’m not quitting my job. I like my job and I need that money.”

Derek frowns but then his face changes into resignation.

“Good.” Stiles is satisfied with that. “And there will be rules. Like telling me things, asking me if you wanna know something, no assumptions and sneaking behind my back.” Another nod and small smile following. “Great. Now, why are you still over there?” he asks and takes a sip of the whiskey. He feels light-headed and remembers that he didn't eat his breakfast. That explains a lot. Especially that giggle which he’ll deny later, if someone's going to ask.

When Derek is almost on touch, Stiles asks: “Why the academy in New York? You could join the program back home or am I wrong?” He's not, but hey, a little politeness can't be a bad thing. When it's not with Tanya, of course.

“NY is better and I was kind of hopping-“ This Sentence ended in an awkward silence.

“I still think I don’t know you how I thought I do.” That one is especially painful. “But I suppose we can work on that one and it's going to be easier, if you're not on the other side of the country.”

“So it’s not a no?” Derek asks silently and leans a little closer.

“Well, I could use a little persuasion, but-” Derek’s kiss is almost bruisingly hard but he has no complains about that. Stiles moans into Derek's mouth and tangled his fingers into Derek's hair. Damn, these are the softest hair he has ever patted. Love at first touch, hands down. He wishes to have children with that hair. And grandchildren. They would be all velvety soft and sexy in every position. Okay, now he’s disturbing even to himself.

“What’s wrong?” Derek murmurs into the corner of his mouth.

“Nothing. Just forgot to take my Adderall. And I’m drinking whiskey on an empty stomach. It’s not important. This is important.” Of course Derek does just the opposite of what Stiles wants. He pulls himself out of Stiles’ hug and frowns.

“Where're your meds?”

“Bathroom, why?” Aaaand he is alone. Typical. “Hey! Asswolf, not fair!” Derek ignores him. “Damn you,” Stiles murmurs and slides down from the kitchen counter. He pours the last few drops of the whiskey from the glass into the sink and fills it with water instead. Then finally drops his ass on the chair next to the table and eats his cold toasts.

Derek puts his pill in front of him with an expression filled with expectation. Stiles rolls his eyes but swallows it. “You really don’t need to take care of me. I would survive the next five minutes without it.” He tries to sound annoyed but he can't, just like he can’t stop smiling at him. And Derek knows it because he leans down to him and kisses away all vanilla sugar remaining on Stiles’ lips. Warm lazy licks of Derek’s tongue are making Stiles all wobbly and stupidly needy.

No matter that they fucked through half of the night, he wants to climb Derek like a tree, push him on the couch and… Oh yes, that’s a one good idea right here. There is something he really has wanted to do since his absolutely first wet dream about this magnificent man.

They get to the couch and he pushes Derek’s ass into the pillows but there's this issue with Derek’s arms. They don’t want to let him go. So he sits on the older man’s lap and tries to lick into his mouth instead. They both taste like vanilla, but that's okay, there are worse tastes on this world. Like smoke, mackerels or anchovies. Vanilla is kind of heaven, actually.

He slides his hands over Derek’s torso and stops at the abs. He traces his fingers over Derek’s six pack and moans into the werewolf’s mouth. He can’t help it. This is what he wanted to do from the day one. God, those abs!

Derek smirks. “You are saying things.” Stiles frowns in confusion. Derek smiles at him. “But I already knew you like my abs.”

Damn! Not this again. Not saying everything that crosses his mind. Someone should write some guidebook for people like him. Shit, he could write a guidebook! Stiles and his mouth: How to embarrass yourself in five words or less. He can feel he’s blushing.

“Shut up, Sourwolf. Everyone likes your abs,” he murmurs into the stubble on the edge of the Derek's jaw. Then he moves to his neck and kissed him near his Adam’s apple. Derek puts his head aside. Stiles freezes.

He blinks, still frozen, and then smiles. Actually, he's beaming. This is big. Holy hell, this is fucking huge! This is Derek trusting him, baring his neck for him. Stiles gently kisses him on the side and then licks the spot where he can feel Derek's heartbeat strongest. The werewolf lets out a content sigh. And fuck… Stiles could cry in that very second. But he doesn't. He focuses on his plan and slides against Derek’s body to the ground so that he can kneel on the carpet between Derek’s legs.

He presses his lips on Derek’s chest and kisses it slowly and properly. He plays with the nipples until Derek’s breath starts to sound ragged and shallow. He licked his stomach when he's unbuttoning his dark jeans and opening them just enough to... Damn! Of course Derek went on commando. No surprise at all. And he is hard already, tiny sparkling drop of pre-come on the head of his cock.

It costs him everything to ignore it and kiss the skin next to the happy trail instead. Derek grunts disapprovingly and thrusts his hips a little. Stiles laughs silently and pushes Derek’s ass back into the couch. But he pulls his pants down a little bit, just enough to free all that perfection.

“God, I wanna blow you,” he says, "I want you to come down my throat," his voice already completely wrecked.

“Stiles,” Derek moans hoarsely as Stiles looks up to him. Derek has his hands next to his hips, fingers clawing into the pillows, his chest quickly rising in the rhythm of his breath, lips red and swollen. But really fascinating are his eyes. They are shinning so bright, Stiles has never seen that before. So beautiful. So damn hot. He can also see a hint of electric blue when he licks his lips and swallows.

“Can I, Derek? Can I suck you?” he asks quietly.

The werewolf nods. Once. Like he's incapable of anything else. But it's enough.

Stiles leans closer and slowly licks the vein from the bottom to the top. Then he licks off that salty drop and closes his eyes. Derek’s taste on his tongue is like ecstasy. But taking him into his mouth? That's like real fucking heaven. He’s afraid he had imagined this yesterday, but no, it's completely and utterly real. He moans and feels Derek dick vibrate under the tips of his fingers.

The werewolf gasps and Stiles opens his eyes again. He wants to see Derek. What he’s capable to do to him. How much pleasure he can bring him just with his mouth.

After a while he's sure that there is nothing he wants more than to see Derek in constant pleasure. His tensed body but relaxed face, his mouth open while he is gasping for breath and those eyes. Those fucking marvelous eyes that can’t stop watch Stiles on his knees.

He licks his way to his balls and then back to the top. Derek is keening. His hands are no longer next to his hips, but in Stiles’ hair. Not pressuring him, only remaining there, creating contact. And then Derek’s fingernails start to scratch at his scalp and under Stiles’ palms his body tenses even more.

“God, Stiles- I-“ And Stiles swallowed him as far as he can, taking Derek's other hand and putting it on his throat, where Derek can feel himself under Stiles thin skin, hard and on the edge.

Derek cries softly when he's coming down Stiles’ throat. Stiles swallows everything and then licks Derek clean. It's all lazy and marvelous.

“Mhmm, we need to repeat that. Soon, like in an hour or so.” Derek chuckles all weak and too blissed out to form any words.

“You’re a menace,” he still murmurs after a while and pulls Stiles back to his lap. His eyes lightened and happy and full of something Stiles isn't sure he can bear at this moment but it's okay. Hell, it's perfect. He kisses Derek and tangles his fingers back in his soft dark hair.

They can handle this. They can handle anything - feral werewolves, kanimas, painful past, honest mistakes, and feelings too great for them to be hidden. Stiles tightens his hug and snuggles into Derek’s neck, just below his left ear, nuzzling the warm skin.

“I don’t think I’ll ever let you go.” He can feel Derek smiling. His heart leaps a little, when the werewolf nips at the skin on his collarbone.

“I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave.”

So maybe in the end, Stiles isn't that fucked.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, you've managed it to the end. Congrats, if you're still sane. :)  
> If you liked it, I'm excited! If you didn't, I apologize for more, than just for my poor English.  
> I would be grateful for any reaction (critic is important so I could be better next time). Or if you don't wanna write here, you can visit my tumblr here: http://were-dragon.tumblr.com/ and write me there.  
> Thanks again! Love you all! :)


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